Among Souls
by Ajestice
Summary: It was her voice that brought him to her side. It was his eyes that kept her there.
1. Lost

**AMONG SOULS**

**"**_True love is found not among bodies, but among souls."_

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_A few disclaimers for your viewing pleasure:_

_- This story is based off of the 2009 remake, and does not utilize anything from the original movies. _

_- I was originally under the impression that Crystal Lake was located somewhere in New England, but given the presence of coalmines, rednecks, and hunting lodges, I have changed the location to West Virginia._

_- Don't take this story too seriously. I wrote it for fun, and for my own personal enjoyment. Sit back and enjoy the ride._

_- Due to laziness, and personal preference, I've written Jason with two functioning eyes. Because it's much less awkward to say, "Jason narrowed his eyes," than it is to say, "Jason narrowed his eye." See? So awkward. _

_- I do not own Jason. But I put him on my Christmas list, so we'll see how that works out._

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**DASVIDANYA**

Dasvidanya Mitchell was officially lost.

Well, that wasn't quite true. She wasn't _completely_ lost. She knew that she had been driving for two or three days. She knew she was in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. She knew she was somewhere in West Virginia, because she'd passed a sign that said so a few hours ago.

But that was it.

Usually, being lost was a very bad thing. Being lost did not settle well with her. Being lost meant panic attacks, and mental breakdowns, and heavy medication.

But this time, it was different.

This time, she _wanted_ to be lost.

_Maybe you're just a masochist, Ana,_ her brain suggested. So helpful, her brain. When it wasn't insulting her, or giving her panic attacks, it was flashing memories of that last fight with Max through her brain, and offering up images of her corpse sitting in her car in the middle of the desert, dead from being lost.

No matter that she was nowhere near the desert.

Her brain was convinced that she was going to end up there, and that she was going to die a horrible, miserable death from exposure and starvation, and her eyeballs would be eaten by prairie dogs, and a cactus would grow out of the chest cavity of her eviscerated corpse.

Such a wonderful thing, her brain.

She turned off the highway at a random exit. No particular reason. She just felt like getting more lost. Being lost on the highway was easy. Being lost in rural farmland in the middle of West Virginia, where there weren't mile markers and gas stations every two minutes, _that_ was where shit got real.

"L'appel du vide," she said. _The call of the void_. The urge to jump. To end it all.

Not that she wanted to die. She didn't. Not in the least.

But she _did_ want to be lost.

_And why is that?_ her brain wondered idly.

"Who knows?"

She sure as hell didn't. She just knew that she had been driving for what seemed like years, and she was finally far enough away from New York City that she no longer smelled garbage and car exhaust with every breath. She no longer heard sirens and honking car horns in her dreams. She was no longer afraid to make eye contact with strangers at gas stations. She could see the stars again.

She could hear the wind. And the crickets.

God, she'd missed the crickets.

_And what about Max? What about your friends? Your job? Your life?_

"Fuck it," she muttered, following the narrow, two-lane road through another series of twists and turns. "I'll figure that out when I get where I'm going."

_And where is that, darling?_

She rounded a bend in the road, and saw an old, run-down gas station on her right. She pulled in and parked beside an old Chevy pickup that might have once been red, but had faded to a lovely, rusty pink color, and got out of the car.

Two old men glanced over at her from their bench in front of the convenience store. When she smiled at them, they nodded politely and returned to their conversation.

The man standing at the counter looked up from his magazine and smiled at her when she walked in. He was short, and balding, and his glasses looked to be about an inch thick.

The door jingled, and Ana winced at the sound. She didn't like loud noises.

"Howdy, ma'am," he said cheerfully. "Anything I can help you with today?"

Ana smiled, despite herself. She had forgotten what it was like to interact with actual human beings. She had forgotten that kindness was still alive in the world. The further South she went, and the further away from New York City she got, the nicer people became.

"Actually, yes," Ana said, grabbing a bottle of water out of the display and setting it on the counter. "Would you happen to know of any nice places to stay around these parts?"

He punched a few numbers on his old register and made change for her dollar and nodded. "Oh, yeah, we got a lot of nice cabins up by the lake for rent. Most of 'em are empty this time of year, too."

A lake? A cabin on a lake?

That sounded fucking _perfect_.

"And how do I go about renting one?" she wondered, taking the change and tossing it in the little coin tray in front of the register.

"Well, you just keep going down this road a ways, and you'll see the diner on your right in about half a mile, give or take. There's a shop right next to it, sells fishing and hunting equipment. The manager, that'll be Jim, he owns a number of cabins along the north side of the lake. He'll give you a good deal."

Ana pulled a five dollar bill from her wallet and handed it to the man. "Thank you for your help," she said. And she meant it.

He took the money and smiled. "And thank _you_, ma'am. You have a blessed day."

"You, too," she replied. She picked up her water bottle and turned and headed for the door. The bell jingled above her head, but she was ready for it this time. She just grit her teeth and tried to block it out.

"Wait, uh, miss?" the gas station clerk called, halting her halfway out the door. She turned. "Don't… don't go wanderin' too far in the woods 'round these parts. We got some mean grizzlies like to come down from the mountains this time a year."

Ana grinned. She had absolutely no intention of wandering around in the woods. Getting lost in a car was more than enough for her, thank you very much. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

She nodded farewell to him, and to the two old gentlemen holding court on the bench outside, and hopped back in her car and continued down the two-lane road. Sure enough, about half a mile down she found the small, shiny diner, sitting beside the road like it had just been dropped right out of 1955. And beside it was a weathered little cement-block shop with a sign out front that said, "Jim's Supplies and Lures."

She pulled her Mustang into the parking lot and sat there for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

Get a cabin by the lake. Sleep and laze around and watch the snow fall for a few days. Eat too much. Meditate. Have a few glasses of wine. Get good and relaxed. It had been such a long time since she'd been truly relaxed.

And then, _maybe_ she'd consider turning her cell phone back on.

She nodded and got out of the car.

For once, being lost had worked out well for her.


	2. Echo

**JASON**

There were very few things in this world that Jason Voorhees truly enjoyed.

Surprisingly enough, he did not consider killing people to be one of them.

He did not necessarily enjoy killing, so much as he found intense satisfaction in removing from this world those who trespassed on his land and desecrated his mother's memory. It was the last request his mother's soul had made to him, to punish them for what they had done to her, and he did it well.

He did everything well.

Summer storms, those were something he truly enjoyed. He liked the violence, and the bright, visceral flashes of lightning chased by ground-shaking screams of thunder. He liked the heavy rain, too; it washed away all traces of his presence in the world.

The first snowfall of winter, that was another, despite the fact that it became much more difficult to cover his tracks and hide the evidence of his existence in snow and ice.

Bathing in the hot springs in the caverns beneath the mine; a rare treat that he reserved only for the coldest days of winter, as he was not particularly fond of standing water.

And his mother's singing, which he had not heard since he was a boy, curled up on her lap in front the big, cast iron stove in their kitchen on dark, quiet winter evenings.

So when he heard her voice floating through the air on a cold, bitter day in the middle of December, he followed it without question and without hesitation. She was singing one of the hymns from her book, something about grace and peace. He remembered it, heard it echo through his memories as he moved towards the sound.

Contrary to popular belief, he was not insane, or mentally handicapped. He'd heard the stories told by campfires, spoken with laughter and mockery. He knew what the world thought of him, what they believed.

But he was not stupid, and he was not delusional. So hearing his dead mother's voice calling to him from across the lake made a shiver of unease crawl down his spine. His heart beat faster. His palm itched for his blade. He did not like things he couldn't explain. He did not like things that made him uneasy. He had spent his entire life mastering his environment, controlling every aspect of his life down to the smallest detail.

He did not like anomalies.

He paused at the edge of his territory. There were no discernable landmarks that signified the border, but he knew it by heart.

It was extremely rare for him to leave his land. He could count on his hand the number of times he had been forced to do so. When someone trespassed, he took care of them, and that was the end of it.

They did not leave alive.

But sometimes, one managed to escape. And then he had to hunt them down. Sometimes, they trespassed, and then returned to their campground, or hunting lodge, or cabin.

He considered that fair game. If they came onto his land, he could go onto theirs. And punish them.

He'd done it a few months ago, with the girl's brother, when he'd followed their tracks to the hunting lodge that bordered his land.

But he didn't like to think about what had happened a few months ago. He still wasn't sure how to explain it, and he did not like things that were unexplainable. So he pushed that thought from his mind.

This was different. This time, he wasn't leaving to chase down a group of teenagers who had defiled his mother's memory by bringing their filth and destruction to the land. This time, he was leaving of his own accord, to chase down a memory.

A ghost.

He would find the source of the song, and he would know for sure what or who it was.

Whether his mother's ghost had returned to haunt him, or he was hallucinating, it didn't really matter. He would find the voice, and he would know. And then he would return to his land, and all would be well.

He found her sitting on a small dock in front of one of the tiny rental cabins that stretched along the north side of the lake. He watched her from the trees, searching her face for a sign of resemblance.

She was not his mother.

She was small like his mother, and her hair was dark like his mother's, and her voice was haunting and delicate and captivating.

But she was not his mother.

At first, he was relieved. He was not being haunted by a ghost. He was not going insane. He was not hallucinating. She was just a woman, small and fragile and unsuspecting.

But then he tried to turn around and walk away.

And he couldn't.

The relief dissipated.

Earlier, in the summer, something like this had happened. It wasn't a voice that had stilled him, but a face. He could not kill her, but he could not let her leave, either. She had seen him, she knew of his existence. She could not be allowed to go free.

So he had taken her, and kept her in the mine, hoping that he would one day find the strength, the willpower, to destroy her. He hadn't known what else to do. He'd had no other choice.

It had not ended well.

This time, however, it was not a face that stilled him, but a voice.

Voices could be silenced. He could kill this one, quickly and easily, and weigh her body down with rocks and drop her into the lake. It would start freezing over soon. She would not be found for months, if ever.

But he was not on his territory. And this woman had not seen him. She had not defiled his land or his mother's memory. She had done nothing wrong.

Yet he could not leave her be. His body would not respond to his commands. He could not take a step back, he could not turn away. He could not even move his eyes from her.

So he sighed, and did the only thing he could do. The only thing his treacherous body would allow.

He approached her, silent and cautious. Her back was to him. In a heartbeat, he had his machete in his hand.

Still, she sang. Unaware of the danger. Oblivious to what was approaching her.

Strange, how humans had lost so many survival instincts. How they had lost that instinct that stilled their heart and froze their lungs when danger was near. When a predator stalked them from the shadows.

She stiffened, and her voice trailed away into silence. Amusement flickered within Jason.

So she did have some instincts, after all.

Still, it was too late. Before she could turn to face him, he brought the handle of the machete sharply down on her temple, and she fell back into his waiting arm. He sheathed his blade and tossed her over his shoulder, glancing around to make sure he had not been seen.

No one was around for miles.

He sighed. He didn't know what he was going to do with her, but he knew where he would take her.

He wondered idly if this one had a brother.

But it did not matter.

He had no choice.

He started back, moving through the forest quickly and silently. He breathed a sigh of relief when he passed back into his territory. Once more, all was right with the world, just as he had predicted.

The echo of his mother's song drifted through his mind.


	3. Chains

_Thank you Kyuubi123, SandraSmit19 and Tell Me You're Still You, for your reviews. I am immensely enjoying writing this story, and your reviews make it even better. :)_

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**ANA**

Ana woke with the mother of all headaches crashing around inside her skull. She winced, and sucked a harsh, hissing breath through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

"Son of a _bitch_," she cried, her voice muffled by the thin, threadbare pillow beneath her head. She slid her hand up to massage her temples, and froze when she felt something solid and cold and heavy encircling her wrist.

She opened her eyes to slits, and in the dim, yellow light, she saw the glint of metal.

Shackles.

She lifted her right hand about an inch, testing the weight and strength of her bonds, and heard the soft clinking of a hundred metal pieces shifting against each other.

Chains.

"Son of a bitch," she repeated, this time in a whisper.

It was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no other reasonable explanation. People did not go on vacation in West Virginia and randomly wake up imprisoned in a dark, damp, cold…

What was this place anyway?

She started to lift her head, and immediately the pain screamed back to life, starting behind her eyes and shooting straight down her spine, a razor sharp scalpel slicing her nerves into frayed ribbons of agony.

She'd had her share of headaches, but this was worse than any hangover she'd ever had the misfortune of suffering through.

_Why do I have a headache? Why am I chained to a bed?_ she demanded of her pain-fogged mind.

It didn't make any sense. The amnesia, the confusion, the sneaky tendrils of fear that slithered over her skin like wispy, ephemeral snakes… None of it made sense. She hadn't been drinking, and she hadn't smoked pot since college. She definitely hadn't been rufee'd; she was the only person around for miles in every direction.

So why wasn't she still sitting on the dock outside her cabin?

Why was she in a dungeon?

Why was there a dungeon in West Virginia?

People didn't have dungeons anymore.

Didn't make any sense.

Something reached her through the haze of pain, a strange new smell, sharp and smokey, with a hint of something harsh and chemical… like gasoline…

Coal?

She opened her eyes again, and this time, when she lifted her head, she did so with the speed of a snail, and the precision and care of a brain surgeon.

_Don't think about brains._

She managed to push herself up into a sitting position before the nausea hit. A whole new brand of agony, rolling through her like the waves of some angry, hellish lake. Her eyes closed. She swallowed, gagged, and coughed, and then swallowed again, taking deep, gasping breaths of the stale, cold air.

She was not going to vomit in a dungeon in West Virginia. She just wasn't.

If she was going to die down here, she would die with at least _some_ dignity. Her pride demanded nothing less.

After an eternity of fighting against the nausea and the pain, the sickness finally began to subside, and Ana leaned back against a wall made of thick metal mesh.

She opened her eyes.

She was sitting on a cot, tucked into the corner of a… cave of some sort. Her brain chose that moment to actually be helpful, and it reminded her of the smell of coal.

Coalmine. She was in a coalmine. In West Virginia. In the middle of December. And she was freezing.

To the left of her cot, about five or six feet away, was a half-wall made of cinderblocks, wood, and old, random pieces of furniture piled atop one another. Beyond it, she could see the rough-hewn wall of the cavern, mixed with aged cement and wood, and a tunnel that led out of the room. This must have once been part of the coalmine's living area.

At the foot of her bed was another pile of junk, and beyond that, stairs heading upwards, though where they led she couldn't begin to fathom. And beyond that, another tunnel. She was surrounded on all sides by metal and rock and dirt and wood. The junk parted in the opposite corner from her, creating a large, makeshift doorway.

And beyond that, she saw tools. All sorts of them, from large scythes to ancient, rusted chainsaws, to hammers and axes and mining equipment and some kind of enormous wheel made of what appeared to be granite.

Her mind offered her another helpful insight.

_Grinding wheel._

The kind used to sharpen blades.

She kept her eyes closed after that. The light was dim, but it still sent bolts of pain through her skull, and despite all the evidence that she was awake and lucid and that this was really happening, a tiny, stubborn part of her kept thinking that it was all just a dream.

And maybe, if she kept her eyes shut long enough, the next time she opened them she'd be back in her little cabin by the lake. Back in the uncomfortable old bed with the patched blue quilt and the lumpy pillows.

She had almost managed to convince herself that this was all just a strange, incredibly detailed nightmare.

And then the air changed.

She wasn't entirely sure_ how_ it changed, or how she _knew_ that it had changed, but suddenly, she felt the presence of something other than herself in the room. Cave. Coalmine. Whatever.

A sudden, sharp noise echoed around her, loud enough that she winced when it echoed through her head. It was the sound of metal on metal. A harsh, hollow clang, slow and deliberate.

Ana opened her eyes.

A giant stood in the doorway, wearing a hockey mask. His clothes were old and worn, but even from fifteen feet away she could see the muscle that corded his neck and chest. He was wearing a ragged, stained t-shirt, an old black jacket, and a pair of work pants that might, at one point in the distant past, have been blue. His skin was stained with dirt and sweat and soot.

And he was holding a huge, gleaming machete in one hand, resting the edge of it casually on an upended aluminum pail that sat by the makeshift doorway. That was the noise she'd heard. He had been announcing his presence.

She knew who he was before her poor, bruised brain even had a chance to start firing up. She'd heard the stories; after she'd rented her cabin from Jim, she'd stopped at the diner to grab a cup of coffee and a donut. The locals had been more than willing to entertain her with the tale of the crazy woman who'd murdered a group of camp counselors thirty years ago, and her poor little boy. He'd survived a near drowning and returned to the camp just in time to watch his mother die.

This was Jason Voorhees.

_Fun!_ Her mind chirped.

A short, hysterical laugh burst from her lips.

He blinked at her, and his head tilted to the side, just a fraction of an inch. If her eyes hadn't been glued to him like a magnet, she wouldn't have noticed the movement at all.

She waited, unmoving, listening to her heart pound in her ears and chest and wondering if he could hear it from across the room in the tense silence that had settled over them.

He didn't move. He didn't blink. It didn't even look like he was breathing.

After a moment, Ana found the presence of mind to frown. The fear was there, burning her blood with adrenaline and panic. But fear had never been a very strong emotion in her; in fact, most times in the past she'd found herself responding to situations that called for terror with anger, instead.

Max had always teased her about it, saying that she was an evolutionary throwback, the insane chimpanzee that ran _towards_ the leopard instead of away from it, buying time with its stupidity for others to escape.

She agreed with him, for the most part. Feeling anger instead of fear _was_ pretty stupid, and it went against every survival instinct a person should have. But as insane as her chimp ancestors might have been, she rather preferred to think of them as the guardians, the protectors who ran towards danger and certain death in order to buy time for their family to escape.

So she was not at all surprised when the fear was suddenly and efficiently suffocated beneath a wave of bitter, proud fury.

"Well?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, ignoring the clinking chains and the bulky shackles that weighed down her wrists. "Are you going to kill me or what?"

He blinked again.

No other movement.

"You could have done it at the lake," she added reproachfully. "At least then I would have died surrounded by beauty."

His head tilted further, just another hair.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said. "I'm not going to beg or cry, so if you get your kicks from that you're going to be disappointed."

No movement.

She was beginning to feel like she was talking to a statue. An inanimate object. He _was_ real, wasn't he? This wasn't a hallucination, was it?

Surely not.

Hopefully not.

She glanced down at the machete. It gleamed sinisterly in the dim light.

"Did you knock me out with that?" she demanded, nodding towards the weapon. When he didn't respond, she sighed. "You could have just _asked_, you know. If I'm going to die, I'd much rather do it without a killer headache."

Then she laughed again, because she'd just used the word _killer_ in a sentence directed towards Jason Voorhees.

He blinked.

But he didn't move.

Faced with no immediate threat, the anger faded, withdrawing from her mind and body like a fog evaporating beneath the sun. All that was left in its place was a strange hollowness. And pain. Her head was still a blazing furnace of agony.

"Fine," she said with a sigh. She scooted back down onto the cot and curled into a fetal position. "If you're not going to kill me then I'm going back to sleep. Maybe my concussion will do the job for you."

She didn't open her eyes again. After a few minutes, she heard footsteps, heavy boots crunching on the gritty floor, trailing off into silence.

He was gone.

Despite the situation, it was ridiculously easy to fall back into unconsciousness.


	4. Pretty

_Huge thanks to my lovely reviewers!_

_ Kyuubi123: I'm glad you enjoyed Ana's reaction to Jason's appearance. :)_

_SandraSmit19: Ana is definitely not one for hysterics, but I can see why her sass would seem unrealistic. She's big on the 'dying with dignity' thing, and she has lots of pride. I'm sorry if it didn't seem realistic, though! As I go into more detail with her character, hopefully her reactions to Jason will become more... what's the word... understandable, I guess? Let me know what you think! :)_

_xXAngelOfTheOceanXx: You're awesome, and thank you for the encouraging words! Like I said, I'm a total newbie when it comes to the FT13 fandom, so I hope you'll forgive me if I make any rookie mistakes. :)_

_I've gone into some detail about Jason's relationship with his mother in this chapter. If you have a minute, leave me a review to let me know what you think. Please._

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**JASON**

Throughout his life, Jason had experienced a considerable number of different reactions to his presence. Most of them fell within the negative range of emotions, like disgust, hatred, or terror, or a combination of the three. Some had reacted with numb shock. Some with wild, uncontrollable panic. Some had even gone mad.

But no one had _ever_ been so… bemused. So annoyed. What a strange combination of emotions, that mixture of anger and pride and indignation. He had never experienced it before.

After a while, he turned his thoughts away from the girl and went about his business. There was work to do. There was always work to do. He checked his traps, and his trip wires, and he raided an empty camp for food and supplies. The campers were out hiking during a brief break between snowstorms, muddying the pristine winter landscape with their footprints and trash and loud, braying laughter.

He would return tonight to take care of them, to end their desecration of his land. He didn't get many trespassers this time of year; winter in West Virginia was bitter and harsh. But they came, nonetheless. And if they crossed into his territory, if they rummaged through the old camp, and brought their filth to his world, he destroyed them.

He made use of what he could, scavenging from campers and locals alike, careful never to take too much, only just what he needed.

When he found the First Aid kit, he almost tossed it aside.

Then he remembered her expression. Her irritation. So strange. So different. No one had ever looked at him quite like that. Not even his mother.

Even at her worst, his mother had only ever looked upon him with scorn and disappointment, the greatest weapons of a bitter, passive aggressive woman. The greatest weapons of the woman who had forever been the victim in the story of her own life. The suffering widow. The single mother. The blameless martyr. Cursed with a disfigured son, a dead husband, and undeserved judgment from the whole world.

_They must be punished, Jason. For what they did to you. For what they did to me. _

_Kill for Mother, Jason._

He loved his mother. He had always loved his mother, and he always would.

And he had agonized over her sadness, her pain. As a child, he had wished, more than anything, more than he had wished for friends or for a different face, that he had the strength, the courage, to fight for her, to take care of her, and to make her happy.

But it wasn't until that dark, rainy night, when he had watched her head fall into the mud, that he had realized this was what she had always wanted. She had wanted to die, to be the ultimate victim. She had wanted to be a martyr all along.

That was why she had been so unwavering in her dedication to her religion, so determined to educate him on the ways of Christ, and the Word of the Lord. She had been training him, from birth, to see her as his Christ, the one who died for him and his sins.

He'd just had the bad taste to die before her, and that had ruined everything. She had gone insane.

But that didn't change the fact that she was his mother. That she was his rock, his God, for the first seven years of his life.

And he had sworn to her that he would spend the rest of that life, no matter how long or short it was, fulfilling her last wish.

_Kill for Mother, Jason._

Jason blinked, and shook the memories from his head. He reached down and grabbed the First Aid Kit, stared at it for a moment, and then tossed it in his pack and took it with him back to the mine.

As soon as he stepped into the cavern, he felt surrounded. Her smell was everywhere. It was something citrusy - lemons or oranges - and a vague hint of summer herbs. Crisp. Fresh. Unsettling.

He didn't like his home smelling like a woman. It seemed… wrong, somehow.

Or perhaps just… new.

Jason did not like change.

He stepped into the small room where the girl slept, curled tightly around herself at the head of the bed. Her dark hair was splayed on the pillow behind her in a wild, tangled halo. The bruise on her right temple was angry and dark, but despite her sullen remark about a concussion, Jason had not actually damaged her skull.

He knew his own strength.

He watched her for a long time. She was small. He remembered his surprise when he'd picked her up to bring her back to the mine; she had been so light. Seemed so fragile.

Her voice reminded him of his mother. Her voice was what had reached down into his mind, drawing up memories of his childhood, memories of warmth and peace. Memories of love.

But this one, she did not look like his mother.

Her lips were fuller, and her cheekbones were not as sharp or high. There were no deep frown lines carved around her mouth, or between her brows. Her skin was pale and lightly freckled.

Jason's mother had been beautiful. Striking.

This one, she was different.

Less, and yet somehow… _not_ less. She wasn't beautiful. She was… a softer word. A word that matched the gentle curve of her lips and the long, thick fringe of lashes that feathered her cheeks.

Pretty.

Right?

Yes. That sounded right.

She was… pretty.

He set the First Aid kit down on the table beside her bed, and then placed a water bottle next to it.

He didn't do it because he liked her. He didn't do it because she had looked at him like he was a person, and not a monster. He didn't do it because she smelled like summertime.

He did it because he had just happened to think about her while he was walking his land. And he just happened to remember her voice when he'd seen the bright red cross on that plastic box.

And he just felt like it.

That was all.


	5. Laughter

_Thank you for the lovely reviews, Kyuubi123, SandraSmit19, and Tell Me You're Still You. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

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**ANA**

Ana was actually surprised when she woke up. She hadn't expected to. In fact, she had been almost certain that she would either die in her sleep from a brain hemorrhage, or Jason would return in the middle of the night and cut her head off.

So when she opened her eyes, and stretched gingerly, she did so with a small, slightly perplexed smile on her face. She struggled into a sitting position, blinking to force her eyes to adjust to the light, and scanned her surroundings.

First, she saw the water bottle, sitting on the table by the bed. Her smile faded, and she tilted her head, curious. Had that been there all along?

No, she would have noticed it; would have gone for it like it was a life raft when the nausea had first hit. The water bottle was new.

Then she saw the First Aid kit, and her smile returned, bigger than before. She reached out and picked up the tiny plastic box, ignoring the pain that slithered and clawed down her head and neck. When she opened the kit, the smell of antiseptic made her sigh happily. She flipped through the orderly stacks of bandages and Neosporin and burn cream until she found two little packets of Extra Strength Tylenol.

_Oh, thank God. Sweet relief._

She sighed again, and dumped all four pills into her palm, tossing them into her mouth. The tablets were chalky and bitter and glorious. She reached out and grabbed up the water bottle, downing half of it in three huge gulps.

Then she leaned her head back against the metal mesh behind her and closed her eyes and waited. Her heart rate began to slow, and she counted each beat. One hundred heartbeats passed. Silence stretched around her, broken only by the distant echo of water falling somewhere deep in the mine.

Two hundred heartbeats. She sighed. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. At least this passed the time, and helped her count the minutes until the Tylenol began to take effect.

Five hundred heartbeats.

Seven hundred.

A thousand.

About fifteen minutes, give or take a few hundred beats. And now, finally, _blessedly_, the pain began to ease, as a path of numbness stretched up her neck and around her skull.

"Fucking magical," she murmured.

_Clang!_

Ana jumped so violently she nearly fell off the bed, yelping in surprise as the bell-like sound of Jason's machete striking the aluminum tin echoed in the small space between them.

"What the fuck was that for?" she demanded, holding one manacled hand to her chest, to keep her heart from beating straight through her ribs, and putting the other one against her throbbing temple.

_Clang!_

Another strike rang out. Ana twitched, but this time she didn't jump or shriek. She narrowed her eyes up at him, and frowned, waiting for the third strike.

It didn't come. He stopped moving. His eyes were narrowed back at her, and beneath the old jacket, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bulged with tension.

Ana said nothing, just waited. For what, she didn't know. Probably death.

Maybe he'd just needed a few hours to get back into a killing mood, and he'd returned to finish the job?

But then, why the hell would he bring her Tylenol?

When he didn't hit the pail again, Ana dropped her hands from her chest and head and crossed her legs beneath her and waited.

He stared at her, unblinking.

She stared back.

After a while, the tension started to ease from his posture. He relaxed his shoulders, and tilted his head at her.

"So, are you going to kill me or what?" It was the same thing she'd asked him the first time. She wasn't really expecting him to answer her. In fact, if he'd actually said something she probably would have died from shock.

Ana nodded. "I'll take that as a 'not yet,' okay?"

He remained still.

"So if you're not going to kill me yet, could you… like…. let me go, please?"

He didn't move.

Ana sighed. "I guess that's a 'not yet,' too. Right. Okay. So if you're not going to kill me yet. Or let me go. Then… what _are_ you going to do?"

Still, nothing.

Ana sighed again, and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand. "Right. Well, thanks for the Tylenol, at least," she said sullenly.

He did not respond.

Ana raised her eyebrows at him. "I've talked to rocks that communicated better than you," she muttered. "I mean, damn, it's not -"

_Clang!_ Metal flashed as his machete struck the pail again.

"Okay! _Okay_!" she shouted, wincing. "No more fuc… agh… _freaking_ cursing. Happy?"

His eyes were no longer narrowed, but other than that, he was about as expressive as a corpse.

"Cool," Ana snarked. "Awesome. We would _hate_ to offend your delicate sensibilities."

Instantly, he started towards her. She felt a sharp spike of fear flash through her from head to toe, before it was smothered by the fierce, familiar anger. She narrowed her eyes up at him and waited for the killing blow.

_At least I'll go out with some fucking sarcasm_, she thought bitterly.

He stopped beside the bed, reached down, casually picked up the First Aid kit and tossed it over his shoulder. It sailed off into the darkness. Ana heard a faint crash, followed by the sound of things falling and scattering.

He'd tossed her painkillers into the abyss.

The miserable son of a bitch.

As Ana stared up at him, her expression shifted from fury to pure horror. "Why… what… you… _that's not fair!_" she cried. "You big… stupid… mean… _jerk!"_ She reached out to punch him - _damn, he's tall_ - but the chains pulled her up short, digging into the soft skin of her wrists. She unfolded one leg from beneath her and tried a kick, but he stepped smoothly out of reach, staring down at her with calm eyes.

She halted her stream of lame curse-less insults and slumped back against the wall, head bowed in defeat. Her head was only faintly throbbing, but the pain would return.

And her pain pills were gone. Forever. Probably being eaten by some stupid blind squirrels, or moles, or whatever kind of stupid godforsaken rodents lived in stupid godforsaken coalmines.

After a few minutes of sighing heavily and feeling sorry for herself, she glanced up, fully expecting him to be gone.

But he was still standing there, beside the bed, watching her. She stuck her bottom lip out in a sulky pout. She knew she probably looked ridiculous.

But the whole situation was ridiculous.

A psychopathic killer had just punished her for making fun of him by throwing her Tylenol into the abyss.

Her pout disappeared, and she chuckled, shaking her head as she watched him.

He tilted his head again, just the slightest bit.

He only seemed to do that when she laughed.

And was it just her silly brain, or did his eyes look… amused?

No, no way. Jason Voorhees did not do amused. He did… big, and scary, and intimidating, and muscular.

Muscular?

She let her eyes follow the thick lines of muscle and tendon that covered every inch of exposed skin.

Yeah. Muscular.

Very, very muscular.

Her gaze fell to the hand that was holding his machete. Big. He had very big hands. Good Lord, even his _fingers_ looked muscular.

Why did she have to be hopelessly attracted to muscular men?

Not that she was attracted to Jason Voorhees. Not even the tiniest bit. Not even if he was a perfect male specimen. Not even if his hands were big and powerful. And big. And…

His hand twitched, catching the light on the shimmering, razor sharp edge of his machete. Ana blinked, and her eyes darted back up to his. A blush burned through her cheeks. She'd been caught red-handed, legitimately checking him out.

And, no, she was _not_ hallucinating. He _definitely_ looked amused. His eyes were crinkled a teeny tiny bit in the corners, and they seemed a little bit… brighter.

He'd known she was giving him a once over. He'd known she was staring at his hand when he'd twitched. And now, he had that look in his eyes…

Wait.

Was he…?

"Are you… are you _laughing_ at me?" she asked, incredulous.

His eyes crinkled just a little bit more. Ana's mouth dropped open.

"You are!" she accused.

_Holy crap. He's… actually laughing. Sort of._

And not only was he laughing, but he was laughing at _her_. At her obvious distress about the loss of her Tylenol. At her blushing when she was caught looking him over.

She wanted to be indignant. But she had never been all that skilled at self-deception. He'd showed her a kindness and she'd responded with disdain. She'd deserved what she'd gotten.

Ana bit her lip and sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said sullenly. "I shouldn't have mocked you."

The laugh lines in his eyes smoothed back to blankness.

Then he did something that completely surprised her.

He nodded. Just the barest incline of his head; it couldn't have moved more than an inch. She wasn't sure if he was agreeing with her or accepting her apology, but it didn't matter.

Because he'd actually responded.

She grinned compulsively. She hadn't realized how much his lack of expression had bothered her until that moment. It was nice to feel like she was talking to an actual person, and not just a stone statue.

His head tilted again. Her smile widened.

And then, abruptly, he turned his back to her and walked away, and though her smile faded slightly, Ana couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself.

"Goodnight, Jason," she called into the darkness.

There was no reply.


	6. Angel

_Author's Note: I apologize for my absence. __Kyuubi123, __xXAngelOfTheOceanXx, __Dance Elle Dance, __PLLML, and Dr__agoguage, thank you all for your kind words and thank you for taking the time to review. Enjoy!_

* * *

**ANA**

The next morning, she did not rise of her own accord.

In the cold, predawn darkness, she was woken by the loud crash of steel on aluminum. She bolted upright, wincing at the lingering ache in her head. She'd been surprised when the pain hadn't returned full force. It was still there, digging little holes into the side of her head with every pulse of her heart, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been yesterday. She'd take what she could get around here, and be thankful for it.

She glared over at Jason, or at least, in what she assumed was his general direction. She couldn't actually _see_ him. The shaft windows that let in daylight were pitch black. The only source of light in the cavernous room was the drab yellow mineshaft lamp that hung on the wall by the tools and the grinding wheel.

When Jason made no movement, Ana opened her mouth to say something scathing and sarcastic.

Then she thought better of it and simply said, "Good morning, Jason."

His head tilted again, or she thought he did. Maybe that was just her mind playing stupid tricks on her. At the moment, he was just another hulking shadow among a roomful of shadows.

She heard footsteps, and frowned when she realized they were moving closer. When he stepped in the path of the lamp, she was finally able to track his movement with her eyes. He was backlit by a dim, yellow halo.

_Angel,_ her mind chirped.

She laughed.

Jason stopped.

"Oh, no, sorry, I wasn't laughing at you," she said quickly.

He did not reply, of course. He simply stopped beside the bed and held out his hand, palm up. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, but that didn't help her understand what he was trying to accomplish.

"What? Do you want me to get up?" she wondered. She held up her hands and jingled the chains that draped down from the shackles around her wrists. "I can't. I'm chained to the wall, remember?"

He paused, and then reached down and grabbed hold of her right hand. She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch; she hadn't expected it. His skin was warm and his palms were calloused. His grip was not gentle, but it wasn't painful, either.

Jason froze, holding her hand out between them. It seemed like he was… waiting for something.

"What's wrong?" she asked. She couldn't say why she felt the need to whisper, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

This time, she was close enough to hear him exhale in a short, resigned sigh. She wouldn't have heard it from across the room, but when he was standing right in front of her, with the darkness and the silence pressing in on all sides around them, she rather thought that if she concentrated hard enough, she might even be able to hear him think.

After he sighed, he lifted his other hand - where was his machete? oh, it was strapped to his right leg, in some kind of holster - and slid a key into the padlock that held the shackle together around her wrist. The heavy iron bonds dropped onto the bed in a clinking heap, and he quickly released his grip on her wrist.

Then he held his hand out again. This time, Ana understood. She lifted her left hand and placed it in his. His thick fingers curled around her wrist to hold it in place while he unlocked the shackle. His grip was surprisingly gentle this time. When he released her, her arm felt unusually light.

Jason stepped back and waited.

Ana peered up at him with a thoughtful frown. "Well, we've already established that you have no immediate plans to kill me," she mused, "and I highly doubt you're letting me go, so… am I getting a bathroom break?"

By this time, her eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness so that when he nodded, that one-inch chin-drop, she saw it.

"Sweet!" She scooted to the edge of the bed and yelped softly when her feet touched cold, gritty cement.

She grit her teeth and stood, and then she almost fell back down onto the bed.

Because he hadn't moved. He hadn't backed away or stepped aside when she got to her feet.

She was standing toe to toe with him, and the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest.

_Jesus Christ, he's tall._

She craned her head back to look up at him. His head was tilted at her. Curious. Why? Was he wondering why she was making strange noises?

"Um. Sorry. The floor is cold."

He stood motionless, eyes trained on her in the darkness.

And then, in a sudden rush of movement, he bent down, wrapped one big arm around her butt, and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Ana yelped again, more out of surprise than anything else.

Then she laughed. And then she winced. All the blood rushed to her head, causing it to throb angrily. She ignored the pain, pushing it to the back of her mind so that she could stare down at his feet. And maybe his butt. Just a little bit. She couldn't help it, it was right _there_.

He started walking, turning down one of the corridors and taking her deeper into the mine.

After a moment, Ana delicately wrapped her arms around his waist. It was the only way to keep them from dangling uselessly above her head.

Good _God_ he was ripped. She could literally _feel_ every muscle in his body, moving beneath his skin like tightly coiled springs, a silent promise of incredible strength.

And he smelled like… some kind of soap? She could smell sweat, and wood smoke, and fresh earth and pine, the smells of the forest, but beneath that, there was something else. She ticked through the soap brands she was familiar with. She'd had a boyfriend in high school who'd smelled kind of similar.

What was it he'd used?

Green… no, Scottish something, maybe. Four-leaf clover? Something Spring. Or Springs.

Irish! Irish Springs!

She grinned in silent triumph, and returned to watching the ground go by beneath her.

He was eating up the distance at an alarming rate. Each step he took covered an expanse longer than she was tall.

She might have felt a little bit indignant about being carried like a sack of potatoes, but she was _more_ pleased about not having to walk barefoot in a cold, dark coal mine. Not for the first time, she lamented the absence of her Uggs.

They were both silent as he carried her through the tunnels, past dim, flickering yellow lamps, his boots crunching in the gritty dirt, each step solid and sure.

At least he wasn't touching her butt anymore. That had been supremely awkward, and had all the blood in her body not already been in her head, she'd probably have blushed profusely as the thought forced its way back into her mind. His arm was wrapped securely behind her knees. His grip was not gentle, but she didn't mind that; she'd rather he hold tight than drop her on her already bruised head.

When he stopped, she half expected him to plop her down onto the cold dirt like the sack of potatoes she resembled, but instead he knelt to the ground, pulled her back over his shoulder and set her gently on her feet. The blood rushed out of her head, and her vision sparkled. She reached out blindly and caught hold of his shoulder, grabbing tight to keep from falling flat on her ass.

Butt. Whatever.

When her vision cleared, he was still kneeling in front of her, watching her silently. Christ, even on his knees he was taller than her.

The silence stretched between them. He'd stopped by one of the yellow lanterns that hung on the wall of the mineshafts, and for the first time, she was actually able to see his eyes up close.

They were blue.

Bright, pale, vivid blue.

His breathing was even, and she could feel his heart beating steady and strong beneath her hand. He'd just carried her for fifteen minutes straight and he wasn't even winded.

He tilted his head. His eyes slid down to her arm.

Ana released him with a gasp. "Sorry!" she said quickly, the words stumbling out of her mouth, "I didn't mean to… um. I mean I just... all the blood rushed out of my head and I didn't want to pass out, and you were the closest thing to hold on to at the time, so I just. Um. Yeah. Sorry. I didn't hurt you did I?"

His eyes lifted from her hand. They were crinkled at the edges.

Ana frowned. "You're laughing at me again," she muttered.

He nodded. She sighed.

"I'd be mad at you, but you just carried me for like two miles so I wouldn't have to walk barefoot on a cold floor." She paused a moment, and then she smiled. "Thank you, by the way. That was… sweet."

He blinked. Then he shifted his gaze over her shoulder, and she turned around to see a big, rusty metal door bolted into the wall.

"Oh, is that the bathroom?" she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was on his feet, standing a good five feet farther away from her than he'd been when she'd turned around. Wow.

He could move frighteningly fast when he wanted to.

When he did not respond, Ana just shrugged and turned back to the door. It was either the bathroom, or the door to an endless pit that he was going to shove her down.

Hopefully she'd be killed on impact when she hit the bottom.

_Such wonderful thoughts you have, Ana._

She pulled on the handle, and was surprised when it slid open easily on well-oiled hinges.

Inside, she found a big metal box with a hole in the middle. The tiny room was lit with a single, bare light bulb. A few large, commercial grade rolls of toilet paper hung on railroad spikes that had been driven into the wall.

Right. Coalmine. That meant mine toilets. Awesome.

"What, no shower?" she teased, grinning at Jason over her shoulder.

He tilted his head.

"It was a joke," she said gently, "this is fine." She glanced up and down the long, dark corridor, and the cold fingers of fear began to tighten around her throat and slither beneath her skin. "Um. You're not going to run off and leave me here, are you?"

Did he hear the tiny tremor in her voice? When his eyes sharpened, she knew that he had.

Crap.

He shook his head, the same minimal movement, but side to side this time.

No. He wouldn't leave her here to die. That was good to know.

And… oddly comforting.

She walked into the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind her. She was lucky she'd dated an engineer in college; he'd taught her how to work pretty much anything. And usually toilet mechanics were pretty simple. Push a button or pull a lever, one way or another, it flushes. This one was no different.

When she stepped back out in to the corridor, Jason was waiting for her, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed casually over his chest. In that moment, for a brief instant, Ana did not see Jason Voorhees, the psychotic serial killer.

She saw a man. A normal, albiet very large man, lounging against the wall, waiting patiently for Ana to return to him, standing with the subtle, casual confidence of someone who knew his place in the world. He was not frightening, he was not unusual, he was not dangerous or threatening.

He was just... Jason.

Then his eyes flicked up to meet hers and Ana blinked, and the illusion disappeared. He was Jason Voorhees. He probably had every intention of killing her at some point in the near future. Why was she trying to see past the mask?

_Why not?_

She sighed. Her mind was going to get her into real trouble one of these days.

After a moment, Jason pushed off the wall and approached her. Then he knelt down and threw her over his shoulder again.

And again, Ana laughed. She couldn't help it. Something about being carried like a sack of potatoes by a psychopathic serial killer who was really only trying to help… it was just freaking hilarious.

_Fucking_ _hilarious_, she thought firmly. She was simultaneously overwhelmed by an equal amount of thrill at defying her silent captor and shame for being so petty - even if it was just in her own head - when he was actually being quite… nice.

She sighed. Shame won out.

_Freaking hilarious_, she amended sullenly.

After a few minutes, she realized they weren't going in the same direction. They weren't even in the same corridors anymore. The ground beneath them was no longer coarse, packed black dirt. It was rough, hewn rock. She glanced up, and saw that the walls were the same. They were not braced with thick beams, but instead seemed chiseled and broken and in some places even… natural. Free-formed, untouched by human hands, slick with algae and water.

Where the hell was he taking her?


	7. Eyes

_Author's Note: Kyuubi, PLLML, SamanthaJane13, and [m . Autumn] (I kept trying to type your username and every time I saved the document your name would disappear. tricksy little hobbitses)... You guys rock. Thank you for the reviews. Enjoy!_

* * *

**JASON**

He felt the change the moment she realized they weren't returning to the cavern. Her muscles tensed, just slightly, and her left hand, which was curled beneath his arm and clasped against his ribs, gripped the fabric of his jacket tight. He twitched when her fingers slid along his ribs.

"Jason?" she whispered. He could feel her moving, lifting her head to look around. The last of the mine lamps dwindled behind them.

She didn't sound frightened, just curious. A little confused, maybe. But not frightened. Never frightened.

Except when she'd been faced with the prospect of being abandoned in the mine, lost and alone.

The one time she'd actually spoken with fear, and it wasn't even about him.

So strange.

"I know it's kind of pointless to ask, because you can't - or won't - answer me, but my human nature demands it… so, uh, where are we going?"

The light faded away to nothing. He paused for a moment so that his eyes could adjust. He had spent many years mapping out these tunnels and caverns, exploring as far as he could without artificial light.

When he could see again, he started forward.

"I mean, I like caves just as much as the next girl," she continued, "but isn't it kind of easy to get lost down here? For… like… ever? I mean, like, get lost and die? You… you don't hate me _that_ much, do you?"

Now the fear was creeping back into her voice. Still not at him. But at the prospect of being lost. Of being abandoned.

Strange.

He followed the sound of water. He was familiar with the path, seeing as he took it at least once or twice a week, depending on the season and what he was hunting.

In his world, it was important to be undetectable.

She was quiet for the rest of the journey. Slowly but surely, the sound of falling water grew louder, until it filled the silence between them and echoed off the walls in a constant roar.

He ducked through the gap in the rocks and came out into the cavern. On both sides, rock walls rose up into the abyss, broken only by a few bright, determined rays of sunlight. It would be enough for her to see by.

He set her down gently, and when her feet touched slick wet river rocks, she made that odd squeaking noise again.

She didn't like the cold.

"It's wet," she murmured, more to herself than to him. She glanced up and around, and when she saw the waterfall cascading down through a thousand layers of glittering granite, her mouth dropped open. "Beautiful," she whispered. She turned back to him, her lips curling into a grin. "Is that… my shower?"

Amusement slid through him, like a warm summer breeze. He nodded.

The cavern was cold, yes, but the cold had never really bothered him. The girl, however… she was already shivering.

He had carved a shallow shelf into the wall of the cavern, where he kept a small stockpile of soap. He picked up a pale yellow bar, one that smelled citrusy, like her, and handed it over. Her grin broadened, and then a thought flickered in her eyes, and her expression shifted again. Her face was always changing, always altering to display her newest thought or emotion. It was really quite fascinating to watch.

"Um. Would you mind turning around?"

Jason tilted his head and took a moment to watch the blush creep up her cheeks. Interesting. When she bit her bottom lip like that, something flared to life inside him, like a tiny, warm flame deep in his chest.

So interesting.

He turned his back to her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of motion as she tossed her clothes up against the rocks to their right.

He realized she was naked. Standing behind him.

And suddenly, he was mesmerized by that thought.

He could hear her stepping daintily towards the waterfall, and he had to fight the urge to turn around and satisfy his curiosity. What did she look like? He'd seen women naked before, but they were all whores. Sluts. Running around on his land, desecrating his mother's memory, defying her last wish.

But this one, she hadn't been fornicating in the forest. She'd been sitting on the dock by her cabin, singing softly. She had not intruded upon his world. She was not a whore. She had done nothing wrong.

What did a woman, who was not a whore, look like naked?

Rather similar to a woman who _was_ a whore, he guessed.

Except seeing this one naked… the idea of it did not fill him with seething rage, it did not make his hand itch for his blade so that he could cleave her pretty face in half.

In fact, he didn't like the idea of cleaving her face in half at all.

When she stepped under the stream of water, she squeaked again, louder this time, and Jason almost turned on his heel to face her. The urge was so strong in him he had to clench his hands into tight fists to fight it. Her squeak turned into a sharp, trembling gasp.

"Oh m-m-my God, this water is _freaking f-freeeezing_," she sang, her voice echoing around them. Jason's breath caught in his throat, trapped by his own determination for control. He sucked in a harsh lungful of air and forced himself to remain still.

Curiosity was never a good thing. It always led to trouble.

Always.

After what felt like an agonizingly long stretch of time, she ran back over to her clothes, her feet crunching on the wet gravel.

He prayed that she wouldn't slip and fall, and at the same time, he prayed that she would.

Because then he'd have an excuse to turn around.

But she didn't fall. He simultaneously cursed and thanked God for that. When she finally gave him permission to turn, he found her soaking wet and shaking so violently he could hear her teeth chattering from ten feet away. He took the bar of soap from her and set it back on its ledge.

Then he knelt down and picked her up again. The instant her wet skin and clothes came in contact with his body, steam slithered up around them. He was already worked up from his struggle to avoid looking at her; his blood felt like it was boiling, burning beneath his skin.

This heightened state had jacked up his body heat, and that made it feel like he had just picked up an ice cube shaped like a small human.

The ice cube in question, however, was not as inanimate as she seemed.

As soon as he picked her up, she made a sound that Jason had only ever heard women make while they were fornicating. A mixture of a moan and a sigh that sent a bolt of heat shooting straight through his body. He flinched so violently he almost dropped her; surprised both by the noise she was making and the reaction his body was having to it.

She responded by clinging to him even tighter. She was like a wet little barnacle, her fingernails digging stubbornly into his skin to avoid being pulled away from her only source of heat.

"You're so warm," she whispered, and then she sighed. "Sorry I'm getting you all wet."

Like he cared even the _slightest_ that he was getting wet. He was much more concerned about the frigid, giant leech he'd just thrown over his shoulder. A leech with sinfully soft skin, who smelled like lemons, and who made his skin tingle and his heart thunder.

He huffed out a silent laugh, thankful that the sound of the waterfall concealed it from her.

"You had a lot of s-s-soap back there," she mumbled. "Do you bathe often? Sorry, that was a stupid question. Obviously you do. I was _wondering_ why you smelled like Irish Springs."

At least she didn't expect him to reply. It always annoyed him when people expected him to stop and answer their pleas and panicked demands. Stupid, disgusting flesh bags, always screaming and begging and crying. Such unnecessary noise.

This one usually answered her own questions. And her judgment was surprisingly accurate.

She fell asleep on the journey back to the living area. He felt the tension leave her muscles, and her left hand slid from his side to dangle limply behind him.

When he got to their destination, he set her down gently on the bed. Deprived of his body heat, she immediately curled up into a ball and started shivering.

He left her there, and went to retrieve a thick blanket from a storage area down one of the dead-end tunnels. He paused, glanced down at the pile of blankets, and grabbed a second one. She was still shaking when he returned, but at least she was also still asleep.

The bruise on her temple stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of her pale, blue-tinged skin. He felt a small stab of guilt as he inspected the wound. And then the guilt dissipated as his eyes continued to slide down over her body. She was so small. So… fragile.

He started to drape the thick blankets over her, but then he hesitated, and set them at the foot of the bed instead.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, tentatively at first, in case she jolted awake with a scream.

He hated screamers.

When she remained stubbornly unconscious, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, gently at first, and then with progressively more violence, until he was seriously considering whacking his machete against the aluminum pale again.

And then, suddenly and without warning, her eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a sharp, gasping breath.

When her gaze found him, the panic written on her face faded.

And the little flame in his chest flared back to life.

He pointed to the blankets, and then to her.

She glanced back and forth between him and the blankets, eyes wide and confused. She was still shivering.

"You brought me blankets? Th-thank you…" when she reached for them, he stopped her, catching her hand and releasing it almost in the same instant. His fingers tingled where he'd touched her.

He pointed to her clothing, still dripping wet and clinging to her like a second skin. He pointed to the floor, and then the blanket.

She frowned for a moment. Then a slow smile curled her lips. "Right. Take off the cold wet clothes and put on the soft, dry blanket. Good idea. Thanks."

He nodded before he realized what he was doing. Then he stood, and turned his back to her. He waited patiently while she undressed - for the second time - and curled up beneath the thick blankets.

"You can turn around now," she said quietly. Jason turned immediately, and found her cocooned in the blankets, with just her eyes and the top of her head uncovered.

He moved forward, watching her eyes follow his approach. He felt the guilt slithering around inside him again. Was this it? Was this the moment she truly realized that she was his captive? His prisoner?

Was this the moment he lost that smile of hers?

He stopped by the edge of the bed, and knelt down beside her.

Those eyes just stared at him, unblinking and intense.

And calm.

Then, slowly, one small hand slid out from beneath the nest of blankets. Jason wrapped his hand around her wrist, careful to keep his grip gentle. He latched the shackle around that wrist and released her.

She stuck the other hand out. This wrist was slightly bruised from when she'd tried to punch him earlier.

He closed the shackle around that wrist, and found that he couldn't bring himself to meet those quiet, intense eyes.

So he stood, turned his back on her, and walked away.

He didn't like this feeling that burned and gnawed at him from deep in his chest. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He kept walking, and his panic grew. Something was changing inside of him.

He did not like change.

He did not like anomalies.

And he did not like things he couldn't understand.

He needed to get away from her.

Away from those eyes.

Away from this burning flame, this new and unfamiliar pain inside of him.

He needed to get back into his routine. Surely that would bring him back to his senses. Surely that would make the world right again.

Yes. That was it.

He had work to do.

He had traps to check and campers to kill.

At least _some_ things never changed.

That was nice.

And yet, for the first time in many years… it also wasn't.


	8. Thought

_Author's Note: Again, many heartfelt thanks for the reviews, **m . Autumn** (it bothers me that I can't use your proper username due to this site being weird and deleting it when I type it out. sorry.), **CivilBlood13**, **Tell Me You're Still You** (by the way, every time I look at your username, it makes the grammar nazi in me happy; it's like you've single-handedly managed to negate an entire horde of disastrous misuses of the words "you're" and "your" in the world), and **Kyuubi123**. _

_I like posting new chapters on Mondays; reviews give me something to smile about._

* * *

**ANA**

When Ana woke up, her headache still lingered, a dull throbbing in her right temple. She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, and sat up to lean back against the wall. When her skin touched cool metal, she hissed, and quickly pulled a stray edge of one blanket behind her, wrapping herself more tightly in her soft, warm cocoon.

The shaft lights were bright, filling the room with pale, hazy sunlight, so she knew it was daytime. But what time it was exactly, she had no idea.

And what day it was… she wasn't so sure about that, either. She'd gotten to the cabin on Friday, Jason had knocked her unconscious and brought her to the mine, and she'd slept through Friday night. He'd had woken her before dawn to let her go to the bathroom and take that frigid shower. The icy water had sucked the last of her energy right out of her body, and she'd fallen back asleep on his shoulders.

And now it was light out, so either it was still Saturday, or she'd slept through an entire day and it was actually Sunday.

Probably that. She felt like she'd slept for a day or two. Her stomach was empty, and pretty angry about it.

And Jason was nowhere in sight.

Which was good, because beneath the blanket, she was completely naked.

But at least she was warm. Warm was good. She hated being cold.

Now that she wasn't battling an agonizing headache, or subzero water temperatures, she was finally able to start thinking clearly.

She had been kidnapped by a serial killer. There was no escaping that fact. There was no sugarcoating it. Even though he was treating her relatively well, and did not appear to have any immediate plans to kill and/or torture and/or rape her, Jason _had_ kidnapped her.

And the shackles were still on her wrists. She was chained. She was a prisoner.

Now that she knew Jason had no immediate plans to kill her, the realization that she was a captive was really beginning to sink in. She didn't like it. It made her feel trapped. Claustrophobic. Twitchy.

Max was going to worry when she didn't show up at the apartment in the next day or two. Ana's heart constricted at the thought, but she was probably not as distraught as she should be. She had never been one for unnecessary displays of emotion. And she wasn't too fond of Max at the moment anyway.

He was the whole reason she'd taken this stupid, impulsive road trip. The whole reason she'd embraced her greatest fear and gotten lost. He was why she'd rented a cottage perched on Lake Serial Killer in The-Middle-of-Freaking-Nowhere, West Virginia.

They had been having trouble ever since he'd gotten the job in New York. They'd fought almost every day for weeks. About little things. Stupid things.

Ana hated big cities. She hated being so far from her friends in Georgia.

She hated the fact that Max couldn't understand why she was so unhappy. He thought that money was the direct equivalent to happiness, and he was making a lot of it now.

Everything should be fine, he'd said. Life should be perfect. They were making a _generous_ six figures. They had a beautiful loft apartment in Soho.

Everything should have been great.

But it wasn't.

Ana had been fighting a steadily growing sense of overwhelming sadness since she'd crossed the state border out of Georgia.

Every day was a struggle, and every day was harder than the last.

For a while, she'd tried to hide it from Max. He'd never been a very emotional person. He'd never been sentimental or affectionate, and they didn't talk about mushy things like feelings. Ana liked it that way. She was not very fond of strong emotions.

But then this sadness had snuck up on her, and refused to go away. She'd thought she was immune to these kinds of things by now. She'd thought she was stronger than her heart.

But against this sadness, she was miserably, pathetically weak.

When it finally became too difficult to hide it any longer, she'd come right out and told Max about it.

A small part of her had hoped that he would, just this once, just accept it and try to comfort her.

He had not.

He'd said there must be something wrong with her.

Ana had replied that _he_ was what was wrong with her.

And then she'd left. Packed a bag full of useless crap and drove south. Drove for hours. Drove until she was lost. Slept at a roadside motel in Pennsylvania. Woke up, and drove some more.

At first, the prospect of being lost had filled her with terror, but then the anger had taken control, and she'd kept going. Turned off her phone, tossed the GPS in the glove compartment, ignored street signs and mile markers and gas stations. She'd driven until she couldn't stand being in the car for another second.

And it had gotten her here.

Her friends would panic. Max probably wouldn't. Max never panicked.

At first, everyone would assume she'd gotten lost. Then, depending on how long Jason kept her here, eventually they would believe her dead. The experts - did they have experts on how people died when they got lost? Surely they did - would say she drowned in the lake, or wandered off a trail in the woods.

They'd say she was eaten by a grizzly bear, like the ones gas station clerk had warned her about.

Though she was beginning to think he hadn't really been talking about grizzly bears…

Didn't matter. Either way, she was missing, and they would start a manhunt for her.

She didn't like the thought of causing anyone pain.

But there was, quite literally, nothing she could do about it.

At least she was still alive. For now.

If Jason ever let her go, everyone would be elated.

If he didn't, they would cope with her disappearance the same way they had been coping with it all along.

Ana chased her thoughts around in circles inside her head until she was tired of thinking. Tired of wondering and debating herself. Tired of trying not to imagine the fresh, crisp smell of winter snow, and the warmth of a big fire against her skin. Tired of wishing she could smell pine trees and wood smoke instead of coal and kerosene and stale, frigid air.

After a while, she started singing. It was a habit, so ingrained into her that it felt like a part of her soul. She couldn't _not_ sing. She couldn't imagine life without music. When she was happy, she sang. When she was sad, she sang.

When she was tired of thinking, tired of wondering if this was what her life was going to be like from now on, she sang.

She started with something simple, something that fit her desire not to think. Disney songs. She'd always loved Disney songs.

After a while, she moved on to something else, an old lullaby that one of her foster mothers had sung; it was one of the very few comforting memories of her childhood.

But she didn't like thinking about mothers. Or her childhood. So she switched to something else. Something slow and sad. Something that fit her steadily darkening mood.

O' Death. An old, old song. One full of fear and defiance. A song that reminded Ana of her own mortality.

Because sometimes she needed that reminder. She needed to remember that she was mortal. And that her life might very well end. Much sooner than she had expected.

Halfway through the song, Jason walked into the room, and Ana started laughing. She couldn't help it. Her mood lifted, just like that. Like someone had flicked a switch in her head.

_Speak of the Devil, and he will appear._

He had a rucksack in one hand, and his machete in the other. He stopped in the doorway and tilted his head at her.

Curious.

"What's in the bag?" she asked.

Jason glanced down at the sack. After a brief hesitation, he walked forward and set it on the bed beside her.

She snaked one arm out of her cocoon, careful to keep the blankets tight around her chest, and flipped the cover off the top of the bag.

Chef Boyardee's smiling cartoonish face stared back at her.

"Food! Awesome!" she said happily, rummaging through the rucksack to find canned vegetables, canned fruit, and bags of beef jerky. Then she paused, and sent him playful frown. "Unless you're planning on eating it all yourself and leaving me to starve. In which case, not awesome."

His eyes crinkled.

"Oh, good," she said, returning to digging through the bag. "I'm so hungry I'd probably have tried to eat _you_ if you didn't feed me soon."

He huffed.

Ana snapped her gaze back up to him. He hadn't moved, his head wasn't tilted, but his eyes looked different. The laugh lines were deeper, and his eyes were narrowed, but not in a threatening way.

Wait.

Had he just…?

Was that a laugh? A _real_ laugh?

Had he actually, physically _laughed_?

Pale blue eyes glinted in the dim light.

He had. He had just laughed at her for real.

_Cute,_ her mind chirped.

Ana laughed, both at her stupid mind and at the situation in general. "I _knew_ you could communicate if you really wanted to," she teased. "Now, was that really so hard?"

He blinked, but the laugh lines remained. He picked up the rucksack and turned his back to her, carrying it with him over to the tool bench and dropping it beside the grinding wheel.

Maybe he didn't like it when she teased him? No, that didn't make sense. The last time he got upset with her, he threw her beloved Tylenol into the abyss. This time, he'd just turned and walked away.

Strange.

He started the grinding wheel with a push, and then sat down behind it and began the process of sharpening his machete. Sparks flew in the dim light, like a miniature fireworks show. Ana watched, fascinated, as he inspected every inch of the blade. He angled it against the wheel, each movement fluid and precise, creating a perfect, gleaming edge.

The sound, however, was atrocious. It reminded her of nails scraping down a chalkboard, only louder and more… vicious.

She shifted around a bit so that she could pull the blanket up over her head, but that only dampened the sound.

So she started humming.

Immediately, the grinding noises stopped.

Ana popped her head back out of the blanket to find Jason staring at her from across the room.

"Sorry, was I bothering you?"

He didn't respond. Not even a nod of his head. He just stared. Ana stared back, frowning.

After a while, he returned to his grinding, and Ana tucked herself back inside the blanket and started humming again.

And again, the sound stopped.

This time, when Ana pulled the blanket off her head, Jason was standing at the foot of her bed, holding the machete in his hand.

_God, he's fast_.

"Jason?"

His head tilted, but his eyes remained impassive.

Ana sighed. Surely there was _some_ way to get him to communicate. She shook her head and rested her chin on her blanket-swathed knees, looking up at him with her best sad-puppy face. At least she'd gotten his attention.

"Can I have some food? Please?"

He turned his back to her and walked over to the grinding wheel. Ana sighed again. She _had_ pissed him off. Somehow. That was the only explanation.

Maybe it was the singing?

_Well, I'm _not_ going to stop singing; so he can get the fu…agh… he can get the freak… over it._

He didn't sit back down at the wheel. He reached out and grabbed it, stopping its rotation in an instant. Watching him was fascinating. Every movement he made was precise and calculated, methodical and efficient. He did not waste energy. And he did not waste time.

Except when he was staring at her. He always had this air about him, as if he didn't quite know what to do with her. Or with himself.

As she watched, he set his machete gently on the worktable and turned to the rucksack. He pulled each of the cans out and set them on the table, until he found the one he was looking for. Then he grabbed a small copper pot, set it down in front of him, picked up his machete and sliced open the can in question, dumping its contents into the pot.

He moved to another table, blocked by the half-wall to Ana's right. She heard a soft clicking sound, but she couldn't see what he was doing. After a minute or two, the smell of ravioli wafted over to her, and her stomach rumbled loudly.

Five minutes later, he walked over and set a steaming pot of ravioli on the bed beside her, and handed her a spoon.

Ana grinned at him and reached up for the spoon. When Jason's eyes flickered down to her chest, she followed his gaze, fearing the worst.

But the only thing showing in the small gap of the blanket was what passed for cleavage on her. Cleavage was a generous word for it. She'd been depressingly flat-chested for her entire life.

But at least she was spared the humiliation of exposing full on boobage to Jason Voorhees.

Didn't he kill girls who took their tops off?

She cleared her throat and tightened the blanket around her.

"Sorry," she whispered, cheeks burning. Damn her pale skin!

Jason exhaled sharply again. That was a laugh, right? She glanced up at him and found his eyes smiling.

Yeah, that was a laugh.

"Hey! What's so funny?" she demanded, ignoring her blush to frown up at him. "It's not nice to laugh at a girl's chest size. We can be very sensitive about these things."

If she hadn't been in that odd state of hypersensitivity brought on by acute embarrassment, she would have missed what he did next.

He rolled his eyes.

At her.

Then he turned his back to her and returned to his grinding wheel.

Ana watched him go, mouth open in shock, clutching her spoon with white knuckles.

_Big. Mean. Jerk._

She scooted around to face the pot of ravioli and untangled her other arm to grab the handle and pull it closer. She could feel its warmth seeping through the mattress and blankets.

She scooped up a ravioli and blew on it gently. When it was no longer boiling lava hot, she chomped it down. Nothing she had ever eaten in her life had tasted so good.

_Okay, maybe not _that_ mean._

_But still big. And jerk._


	9. Nice

_Author's Note: You guys, seriously, you're awesome. Tell Me You're Still You, CivilBlood13, Kyuubi123, m .Autumn, Sayuri-Yuuko, DarkxAngelxReader, and Owen Love Donut (who, by the way, wins at the Creepiest and Most Confusing Review Ever contest). Enjoy._

* * *

**JASON**

Jason finished sharpening his blade about the same time she finished her ravioli. He had hoped the food would keep her quiet long enough for him to finish, and his plan had worked perfectly.

But he was concerned.

He hadn't expected to find himself so mesmerized by her voice. It had happened when he'd first seen her on the dock, yes. But he had hoped that was a fluke. A random, one-time occurrence.

Then, after he'd made his rounds earlier, and turned back towards the mine, he'd heard her voice floating through the corridors, and he'd been drawn towards her like a magnet. She'd stopped when she saw him, releasing him from her spell long enough for him berate himself for being so easily entranced. He'd shown her what was in his bag and then dumped it on a workbench so he could start up the grinding wheel. Sharpening his blade always calmed him, gave him a sense of peace and control.

And then she'd started singing again, inside her little cocoon of blankets, and he'd had to stop working.

There was no other option. He simply couldn't waste the sound of her voice. His mind wouldn't let him. His mind, and the little flame in his chest.

When she finished eating, she leaned her head back against the mesh wall behind her and started humming softly. Jason sighed. He slid his machete into the holster on his leg and stood, making his way across the room.

At least she had let him finish working before she started up again.

She opened her eyes when he got to the foot of the bed. She didn't smile, but she wasn't frowning, either. And she wasn't blushing.

That was good. When she blushed, the flame got stronger. He wasn't sure why.

"I'm not going to stop singing," she said defensively.

Jason tilted his head. Is that what she thought? That he didn't like her singing?

He fought the urge to sigh. He hadn't foreseen this. He hadn't foreseen any of this.

He hadn't expected her to be rational, or playful, or… nice.

Friendly.

He hadn't considered the possibility that he might actually _want_ to communicate with her.

He nodded. It wasn't much, but it was all he could give her.

"Yes? Yes, what?" She frowned, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Does that mean 'it's okay, you don't have to stop singing' or was it more of a 'go ahead, keep singing, and we'll see how fast I can disembowel a brunette' kind of nod?"

He laughed, though to her it probably seemed like more of a sigh.

She narrowed her eyes up at him. "You're laughing at me again," she muttered.

Clever girl. Was he really that easy to read? Or was she just very perceptive?

"Well, since you're laughing, I'm going to assume you…" she trailed off, and her expression shifted into a narrow-eyed, half-smiling look that Jason did not like at all.

She looked cunning.

Sly.

Predatorial.

Then it was gone, replaced in an instant by sad, pouting lips and wide, pitiful eyes.

"You don't want me to sing anymore," she said with a sigh. She wrapped her bare arms around her blanket cocoon, clasping her knees and resting her chin on her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you hated my voice so much."

Even though he was perfectly aware of what she was doing, Jason couldn't help the tiny flicker of panic that flared to life inside him. He snuffed it out irritably, narrowed his eyes down at her, and crossed his arms over his chest.

_I'm not falling for it._

She nodded. "No, I get it," she continued, biting her lower lip in that way that made the warm little flame in his chest brighten and burn. "I wouldn't want to listen to my caterwauling, either, if I were you."

Caterwauling? How did she even know that word? No one used it anymore. He'd had to look it up in the dictionary when he'd first come across it in an old hunting manual a few years back.

Still, he knew what it meant, and she _definitely_ was not caterwauling. Her voice was lovely. It was soft, and melodic, and sweet. It calmed him, and entranced him. It was…

_Divine._

He frowned at his own thought. Then, to the girl, he shook his head.

"I know," she said, staring up at him morosely. "I won't do it anymore. I promise."

He was simultaneously hit by two very strong and very conflicting emotions: frustration and amusement. He sighed at her and turned, walking back over to his worktable. He had better things to do than to stand there and let himself be manipulated by a tiny little dark-haired siren.

He focused on what was sitting on the table. He'd found a trip line he needed to repair, from the south end of the lake; the hemp had rotted through where it had lain against a mossy tree trunk throughout the wet, late summer months.

He spent a few minutes staring mindlessly at the rope. He could feel her gaze on his back, like an actual physical presence. Her eyes were so interesting. From far away they looked brown, but up close, they were a complex tangle of green and orange, with a few speckles of gold.

Jason frowned. Why was he thinking about her eyes?

He blinked, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He pulled his hunting knife from his back pocket and picked up the rotted section of rope, slicing it apart. He closed the blade and stuck it back into his pants, and was instantly struck with the physical awareness of her eyes on him again.

But not on his back.

On his pocket.

He snapped his head around to look at her. She was still in the same position as he'd left her in, swathed in blankets, knees pulled up to her chest, bare arms crossed to support her chin.

And, yes, she _was_ staring at his butt.

He tossed the rope down with a sharp sigh. Her gaze snapped up to his eyes, but instead of blushing, she bit her bottom lip and gave him that sad puppy look.

He growled, frustrated by the deep, languid burn that curled through his body, spreading from the flame in his chest like a slow, delicious poison.

She blinked, but otherwise her expression didn't change.

Jason grabbed his machete, brandishing it in silent warning.

Still, her expression did not falter. She did not fear death.

She did not fear him.

She was teasing him.

He stuck his machete back in its sheath and turned his back to her, grabbing the trip line and the roll of spare rope. He grit his teeth against the urge to glance over at her one more time, and instead stalked out of the room with another angry growl.

Her laughter echoed through the mine behind him.


	10. Interesting

_Author's Note: I got nothin'. Enjoy._

* * *

_**ANA**_

When she was very sure he was out of earshot, she let herself sing a few soft lullabies, careful to keep an eye out for his return. She was still smiling. She couldn't stop.

She'd made him laugh. Twice. And he'd rolled is eyes. Actual expressions of human emotion. She felt like she'd won a Gold Medal or something.

But at what sport?

Teasing Masked Serial Killers?

Now _that_ would be an action-packed event.

She watched the light fade slowly from the room, as the hours of daylight passed and night fell. Still, Jason did not return.

She watched the moonlight glow pale blue in the windows, illuminating nothing but the dirty old glass. Still, Jason did not return.

She passed the time by singing the alphabet song, and then, when that failed to keep her entertained for longer than two minutes, she started singing it backwards, starting over every time she stumbled until she could sing it frontwards and backwards with ease.

That had to have eaten up another hour or two.

The room was dark, save for the yellow lamps in the tunnels and the one light by the grinding wheel.

Still, Jason did not return.

A tiny flicker of panic came to life within her. Maybe time was just passing slower because she was focusing so much on it? Maybe if she did some meditation, or tried to take a nap, she'd wake up and he'd be sitting at his workbench, or watching her from the foot of the bed.

She lay back in her nest of blankets and closed her eyes. She regulated her breathing for optimal relaxation. But sleep would not come.

She counted her heartbeats for a while, to see if she could gauge time better that way.

She stopped after two thousand.

Still, Jason did not return.

The tiny flicker of panic shifted into a knot in the pit of her stomach. And then it grew into a hot, seething mass. She stood up on the bed, holding the blanket around her like a cape, craning her neck to peer down both tunnels as far as she could see.

She stood very still, straining her ears to listen for his footsteps.

Nothing.

Nothing but silence.

The panic spread outward from her stomach like cancer, like cold, slithering tendrils of fear beneath her skin. She felt it clawing at her throat and squeezing her lungs.

She sat back down on the bed, staring blindly in the darkness, trying not to let it get to her.

"Relax, Dasvidanya," she whispered. "Relax. He didn't abandon you. He's coming back."

She reached out and grabbed her clothes and started putting them on. Her hands were shaking, and her breaths were coming in short, shallow gasps. Her jeans were still damp, but at least her tank top was dry.

It took her far too long to realize that it was impossible to get her top on with the shackles around her wrist. That said something about the state of her mind, didn't it?

"God… freaking… Son of a… _CRAP!"_ she shouted, wadding up the tank top and hurling it blindly into the darkness. She reached for her sweater and yanked it over her head with a harsh sigh. She couldn't get her arms through the sleeves, so she just sat there with the sweater draped around her like a big, soft, stupid straight jacket.

"He'll come back," she whispered, closing her eyes against the screaming blackness that pressed in on her from all sides. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm the rapid-fire beating of her heart.

She mentally ticked through her catalogue of songs, searching for something to calm her, something to keep her mind in a good place, and trying desperately not to let her thoughts go down the path of darkness.

Down the path of memory.

Back to that gas station, in the middle of nowhere.

Back to an empty parking lot.

Where there should have been a car.

_No._

Back where she was abandoned.

_Please, no._

Tossed away like trash.

_Come back._

"Come back," she whispered, drawing her legs up beneath her sweater, tangling them in her chains. She dropped her head onto her knees. "Please come back." Her voice grew louder, turned pitiful and whining. She hated that voice. She hated the weakness it represented. "Jason. Please."

The tears came, burning her eyes and searing her cheeks.

Something touched her shoulder. She snapped her head up, blinking away her tears. He was crouched at the side of the bed, right next to her, the ever silent, hulking shadow. In the dim light, she could just barely make out the shape of his rucksack on the floor. One hand was resting on his knee.

The other one was still on her shoulder.

Ana dropped her head again, furious and humiliated that she'd been caught in the middle of a massive emotional breakdown. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes filled again with tears, but this time, they were tears of shame, not sadness.

The weight of his hand left her shoulder.

And then he slid one finger beneath her chin, lifting her head.

She wished she could see his eyes. She felt very distanced from him, in the dark like this. Blind, in more ways than one.

Then he did something that completely surprised her. He reached up with his thumb and brushed her cheek, rubbing away a tear. His skin was rough, calloused, and warm. And his hand was nearly as big as her face. He could have easily crushed her skull.

But he didn't. He released her, and set something big and heavy on the bed beside her.

And then he turned on a lamp.

The light flared around them, searing her eyes. Ana flinched, blinking hard. When she could see again, she glanced over at the lamp. It was new, one of those energy-efficient lights designed to look like an old oil lantern. Jason had set it on the table beside her bed, and the light reached all the way out to his workbench.

She peered up at him, and found his eyes solemn and intense, and trained directly on her.

"Um. Hi," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with the shoulder of her straight jacket. She glanced over beside her. "What's in the bag this time?"

He did not reply.

"Well, I can't really take a look, myself," she said tonelessly, sliding her legs out from inside her sweater. She stuck her arms out, too, just a little bit, to show him her problem. "I couldn't get my shirt on right."

Jason tilted his head.

Then he held out his hand. Ana placed her right hand in his, and felt a tingle of electricity dance up her arm. She frowned. Stupid hand.

He removed her shackles, and then pointed to the bag. Ana stuck her arms through the sleeves of her sweater and pulled the bag onto her lap. She unbuckled the top flap and flipped it back.

The first thing she saw was her toothbrush. And then everything else from her bathroom in the cabin. She pulled the items out, setting them beside her one by one. Her smile grew with every passing second. He had brought everything she had packed. All her toiletries, her clothes, even her wallet.

"Is this why you disappeared for so long?" she asked, glancing up. He hadn't gotten to his feet. He was still crouched on the ground beside her. And he was still taller than her. He would always be taller than her.

_Unless he's underneath me._

Whoa. Wait. _What?_

Where had _that_ thought come from?

Ana laughed.

Jason, thankfully oblivious to the state of Ana's thoughts, tilted his head and nodded.

Ana bit her lip and swallowed hard.

"Thank you," she squeaked, dropping her gaze hastily back down to the bag. All of her stuff was sitting in a pile on the bed, but there was still something else in the bottom of the rucksack, something small and flat.

Her little pocket notebook. The one she always carried in her purse to jot down grocery lists and random thoughts. And there, still tucked into the spine, was her favorite ballpoint pen.

Her thoughts flashed and her mouth dropped open. Jason was still watching her with that intense look in his eyes.

"Is this… You can write?" she whispered.

Jason's eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"No, I didn't mean it like _that_," Ana said with an exasperated sigh. "I meant… are you _willing_ to write? I mean, like, to me? I kind of got the impression that you don't really enjoy communicating with others."

The displeasure turned to skepticism. As if he didn't believe her. As if he thought she really believed him to be illiterate. Stupid.

She very much did not.

He was incredibly intelligent. Even if she hadn't been able to see it in his eyes, she would have inferred it from observation. Everything he did was extremely well thought out, and executed with skill and efficiency.

He reached out and took the notebook, slid the pen out of the spiral and flipped it open to a blank page. He wrote something quickly and handed the notebook over.

His handwriting was neat and casual, and smaller than she had expected.

_If I didn't want to communicate with you, I wouldn't have brought you the notebook._

Ana's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. Then she chuckled.

"Fair point," she conceded with a nod. "So does that mean I can ask you some questions? Or is this just a more efficient way to order me around?"

His eyes crinkled. He took the notebook back.

_I don't need to order you around. I can carry you._

Ana laughed. His sense of humor was…

Well, it was delightful.

"Also a good point," she acknowledged. She opened her mouth to ask him the one question that had been eating away at her since she had first woken up in the cavern. Then she paused. Another thought had elbowed its way to the front of the line, demanding the opportunity to be heard and answered. "Have you ever spoken… or written… to anyone else?" she wondered.

He shook his head, eyes curious. Clearly that was not the question he'd been expecting.

It wasn't the question she'd been expecting, either.

But now that she'd asked…

"I think you should go first, then," she said, holding the notebook out to him. "Do you have any questions for me?"

He tilted his head at her, and watched her for a long moment. Then he gently took the notebook from her hand.

_You constantly surprise me_, he wrote.

Ana grinned, ignoring her blush. Stupid blush. Stupid emotions. Stupid butterflies in her stomach.

"That's not a question," she scolded, her tone playful. "But… thank you, I think." Then she glanced over at the pile of clothes on her bed. "Here, you write another one, and I'll move my crap out of the way so you can sit on the bed."

She didn't look back at him, focusing on folding her clothes haphazardly into a pile and placing them gently on the table beside her bed. She hadn't packed much. She'd only intended to stay for a few days, maybe a week.

When she turned back around, Jason was standing by the bed, unmoving.

"I don't bite," she said sweetly.

He sat down at the far end of the bed, careful to keep a good two feet of space between them. Which was odd, considering the fact that he didn't seem to have a problem throwing her over his shoulder at a moment's notice.

He handed her the notebook.

_Why were you crying?_

Ana bit her lip, and set the notebook down on the bed, in the gap between them.

She took a deep breath.

"I thought… Um. Well, I guess was worried because you didn't come back, and… you know what? It's nothing. I'm just a little claustrophobic."

His eyes narrowed. This time, when he wrote, the lines of each letter were sharp and jagged.

_Don't lie to me._

Ana frowned. "I wasn't lying!"

When his gaze darkened further, she sighed.

"Okay, maybe that's not the _whole_ reason I was crying. But it's part of the… I mean, I really _don't_ like cramped spaces, but… why does it matter, anyway?" she demanded.

In a flash, Jason reached out and grabbed the notebook, got to his feet, and started to walk away.

_He's going to abandon you._

Panic flashed through Ana, searing her from head to toe. She leapt to her feet and grabbed his arm.

"No, no, wait!" she said hastily. "I'm sorry! I'll tell you!"

He paused, and turned. His eyes were cool and expectant. He did not shake her hand from his arm. He just waited.

Ana sighed. She released him and sat back down on the bed, shoulders slumped. Her mind shuttered and closed in on itself, leading her down the dark, lonely path to her memories.

"I was… abandoned… by my parents." Her voice was flat and toneless. She grit her teeth and sucked in a sharp breath, as the old, familiar panic came rushing back to the surface, an echo of the terror she had felt on that cold, rainy day. "They left me at a gas station in the middle of Pennsylvania. They drove away and never came back."

Silence. Surrounded on all sides by silence. By darkness. By loneliness. It was all she remembered, all she knew. For so long, she had fought that soul-deep loneliness. For so long, she had fought to leave that lost, confused little girl in her past. Fought to forget the pain and the disbelief.

And the betrayal.

Betrayal like nothing she had never known in her life before or since.

"I'm told it's actually quite common in the Motherland," she said to the silence. "Apparently the habit stuck." Her stomach was in a knot, and her heart felt sore and bruised. She hated remembering. "I was four years old."

A heavy weight settled on the bed beside her. She glanced over to find him sitting right next to her, so close their legs almost touched. He wrote something and showed her the notebook.

_You thought I had abandoned you?_

She flicked her gaze from the paper, up to his eyes, and then back down to her lap. She nodded.

_You __wanted__ me to come back?_

Again, she nodded.

He scribbled something else, and held the notebook up for her.

_You are a very unusual woman._

Laughter bubbled up from inside of her, surprising her with its strength and lightness. She shook her head, grinning.

"Thank you, I think," she said, rubbing her eyes and taking a deep, relaxing breath. She glanced over at him, her eyes scanning the line of his legs. His machete was tucked securely into its sheath, strapped to his right thigh.

And here she was, without her chains, sitting right next to him. Her hand was within inches of the worn, smooth leather handle.

Did he really trust her that much? Or was he just _that_ confident? She glanced up to find his eyes focused on her, calm and unconcerned.

Yeah, he was just that confident.

That masculine self-assurance was fascinating. And endearing, for some strange reason that her mind refused to explain.

He was writing again.

_Why did they name you Dasvidanya?_

Ana's lips curled in a derisive grin. Not at Jason. But at the old, faded memory of her father. "They didn't," she said with a shrug. "They gave me a good, wholesome American name. But the last thing my father said, before he walked away, was, 'Dasvidanya.' And when… when the police found me, that was all I would say. Dasvidanya. 'What's your name?' they would ask. Over and over again, they would ask. And every time, I would say, 'Dasvidanya.' And so that's what I became."

Bitter, lonely and full of goodbyes. That was what she had become.

She had stopped being a child that day. She had stopped smiling that day. Over time, she learned to embrace her name. She had learned to protect herself. She had learned how not to get lost. She had learned that if you didn't love someone, they couldn't abandon you.

Jason watched her for a long moment, his eyes solemn.

_I like it._

Ana felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She blinked, and glanced away. "Thank you."

He tapped her knee with the notebook to bring her attention back to him.

_Your turn._

Ana blinked. Now that she had already pushed the big question out of her mind, it no longer seemed all that important. Which was good, because it left her with the ability to focus on him.

And he was much more interesting.

"Um. Okay. How old are you?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled. That was a smile. She recognized it easily, now. Especially when he was this close.

_30._

"Oh. Cool. I'm 27."

_I know._ He pointed, with the ink pen, over to where her wallet sat on top of her pile of hastily folded clothes.

"You went through my wallet?" Ana asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Of course he had. How else would he have known her name?

And, honestly, she didn't really care if he snooped. It wasn't like she had anything to hide.

_I was curious_.

"Well, I'm curious about you, and I haven't gone digging through any of _your_ stuff."

_What do you want to know?_

Ana tapped her fingers on her knees, thinking. "What's your favorite color?"

His eyes were laughing again.

_Green._

"Neat," she said with a nod. "Um. Why are there bells on the ceiling?"

_Trip wires. To let me know when someone trespasses on my land._

Ana raised her eyebrows at him. "_Your_ land?"

He nodded.

_This land has belonged to my family for generations._

Ana's mouth dropped open. "I had no idea. I'm sorry."

_Why?_

"Because I was trespassing. Isn't that why you kidnapped me?"

He looked at her for a long moment, eyes thoughtful.

_No._

"Oh." Ana drew her knees up to her chest. Her elbow brushed against his sleeve as she clasped her arms around her legs. "Do you like cats?"

His head was tilted, and he was looking at her with the strangest expression in his eyes. What was that? It was more than confusion. Not frustration or annoyance. Something in between.

Puzzlement?

_You don't want to know why I brought you here._

It wasn't a question.

Ana shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. You did. I'm here. It's done. Knowing your motives won't change that."

_You do not sound unhappy about it._

"Did you expect me to be?"

He paused for a moment, and then he nodded.

"Would it have changed anything?"

He shook his head, just once.

Ana smiled. "Then why should I waste my energy? I'm not being tortured or raped or starved." She sighed, and then chuckled. "In fact, you've treated me better than a lot of guys I've known."

_Better? _His eyes were curious, and maybe a little bit skeptical.

"Hey, carrying a lady like a sack of potatoes, just so she doesn't have to walk on cold, wet dirt, is _still_ carrying a lady, and that's just plain gallant in my book."

A pause.

_You think __I'm__ gallant?_

"Worse," she said playfully, "I think you're downright chivalrous."

He laughed. Or what passed as a laugh for him. Still, it was starting to sound more and more like a _real_ laugh.

Ana felt her stomach do that stupid fluttering thing again.

_You __do__ know who I am, don't you?_

Ana laughed, and elbowed him playfully. "Are you calling me an idiot, Mr. Voorhees?"

He tilted his head at her, and glanced down at his arm, where she'd nudged him. Ana blinked.

"Oh, right," she said quietly. "I forgot you don't like being touched. Sorry."

Instantly, he started to write something, and then his hand froze on the paper. He scratched through the line he'd been writing. Ana leaned forward to peer around his arm. He moved the notebook further away, out of her line of sight.

"Wait! What were you going to say?" she demanded, craning her neck. In response to her curiosity, Jason tore the page out of her notebook and crumpled it in his left hand. Ana reached for it instinctively, grabbing his hand with both of hers, trying to pry his fingers open. Touch-issues be dam… _darned_. She wanted to see what he'd written. "Come on, that's not fair!"

He shot her a warning look, and curled his fingers tighter into his palm, further crushing the note. It felt like she was trying to pry open a bear trap. But his skin was warm, and it felt nice against her cold fingertips, so she kept trying.

"Please? Come on, Jason. Pretty please?"

He shook his head, and gave his hand a sharp tug, trying to yank it out of her grasp. She held on tight, twisting towards him so that one leg was beneath her. She had more leverage this way, though that didn't really help, seeing as he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, if not more. She tried to wiggle her fingers between his, and he growled very softly.

"Well, stop being stubborn," she muttered, folding both legs beneath her so she could kneel beside him on the bed and lean over his hand. "_You're_ the one who brought me the notebook."

He wrapped his right hand around her arm to hold her still, and then he lifted his left hand up over his head.

Ana didn't let go.

She probably should have. But she didn't.

So not only did he pull her up almost completely off the bed, but he also twisted her towards him with the hand that was still holding on to her arm. When she finally let go, landed square in his lap, straddling his legs, eye level with his chest.

They both froze.

_Well, this should be interesting_, Ana's brain squeaked happily.


	11. Fire

_Thank you for reading. Thank you even more if you've reviewed and/or intend to do so after you finish this chapter. It's kind of a short one, so I'll try to update again within the next day or two._

_Tell me you're still you: Have no fear. This story will have a happy ending. I could not give Ana and Jason anything less, especially considering what I intend to put them through._

_m .Autumn: It's creepy how accurately you're predicting Jason's reactions to Ana. And yes, there will most definitely be hot springs in the future. :)_

_Kyuubi123: To be fair, I'm going to miss their silent communication as well, but there's only so many times I can describe Jason's reactions to Ana without it becoming repetitive and, in my mind, kind of boring._

_CivilBlood13, Mira, PLLML, lisa, and Emmylove1: thank you for the reviews! Enjoy!_

* * *

**JASON**

At first, he felt nothing. He was numb with shock. He hadn't intended to pick her up like that; he'd assumed she would let go once he raised his hand beyond her reach.

But she hadn't let go. Maybe she had underestimated his strength? Maybe she hadn't realized that he could actually lift her with one arm? Maybe in her single-minded determination she hadn't cared where she landed?

It didn't matter.

She was sitting in his lap.

No… it was more than that. She was… she was straddling him.

That was… strange.

Different.

Fascinating.

The flame, already burning bright and hot in his chest, began to rage. Instantly, the rest of his body ignited, overwhelmed by fierce, electric heat. It seared his skin, flashing through his muscles and bone, suffusing his entire body with fire. He slipped into a strange, hypersensitive state; his vision tunneled, and all he could feel were curves. Soft, feminine curves, pressed against him. Citrus in his lungs. Silken fingertips on his calloused skin. The warmth of another living body against him. On him.

So much heat. A new, delightful kind of heat.

So much pain. The strangest kind of pain he had ever experienced.

Pain that did not hurt.

Fire that did not burn.

His body felt electrified, tingling and sparking with every movement, with every loud, panicked beat of his heart.

In the dim light, he could not see what color her eyes were. Did it matter? Those eyes, no matter what color, they were wide and round, and glued to his.

Such an unusual creature, so full of laughter, so clever and perceptive. So animated, full of life and emotion.

Except for at this moment.

Right now, she seemed completely entranced. Just as he was.

His mind dimly registered the fact that she had released her stubborn grip on his left hand.

Her hands had come to rest on his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. That was probably instinctive. But he didn't care. He liked it; he liked the fact that she was holding on to him as if he was her only lifeline.

His blood sang with adrenaline.

_Do something_! it cried. _Anything!_

He wanted to do a lot of things. His mind was whispering to him, from a place that had been long ignored and almost completely forgotten. Usually, when his body ran hot and his nerves lit up like the night sky, it was the thirst for blood that motivated him. It was a soul-deep rage that pushed him forward.

But that was not what called to him, now.

He dropped the wad of paper, and lifted both of his hands to touch her. He had to touch her. It was not a conscious decision. His hands simply would not go anywhere else. They were drawn to her by invisible chains, and they would have touched her even if he didn't want them to.

But he did.

His big hands clasped her shoulders. She jumped, and sucked in a sharp, quick breath. But she did not try to escape. No expression passed over her face. Her eyes seemed glazed, half-closed and almost sleepy.

She bit her lip.

Desire sliced through him in response to that tiny action. Sharp and hot. He felt a growl rumbling in his chest. Before he could think, his right hand slid upwards, over silken, cool skin, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek. He ghosted his fingertips over her lips.

Soft. Incredibly, agonizingly soft.

Her eyes slid closed. A sigh escaped those delicious lips.

Jason's grip on her arm tightened at the sound, pulling her closer against him.

_What are you doing, you fool?_ The voice was sharp and harsh, dashing cold water through his mind and his body.

It was not his mother's voice.

It was the voice of his demon, a twisted, hateful combination of the voices of the children who had tormented him in his youth. It spoke with many different voices, all mocking and hateful.

His demon; the part of him that whispered from the back of his mind, from the place where he hid the sadness and the pain of his childhood.

_What are you doing?_ The voice was bitter and cruel, and full of mocking laughter. _Do you really think someone as beautiful as her could actually want a monster like __you__? She's just waiting for a chance to escape; no woman would ever want to be touched by you._

He jerked his right hand back from Ana's lips, and with his left hand he pushed her roughly off his lap. She yelped as she tumbled backwards onto the floor.

He stood. Reality crashed back into him, taking a sledgehammer to the warmth and the peace. He felt cold inside. Dead. Empty. Hollow.

He couldn't think. All he could hear was that laughter, screaming through his mind, echoing through his memories.

Memories of cruel eyes and mocking smiles. Memories of the beatings, and the insults, and the hate. So much hate.

She could never want him. It was impossible. It was unnatural. He was a freak of nature, he was deformed, he was a cold-blooded killer.

And she was beautiful, and delicate, and kind.

He left, knocking over a pile of old boxes in his haste. He was not running, he told himself. He was not fleeing from her, like so many victims had fled from him.

No.

He just didn't feel like being there anymore. So he left.

It wasn't until he reached the lake that he remembered he hadn't put the chains back on her.

His heart leapt into his throat. His jaw clenched. A low growl escaped his throat. Panic screamed through his mind, overwhelming the turbulent storm of emotions that fought and raged within his body. Thoughts flickered, spurred by the panic, images of Ana stumbling through the snow, lost in the woods in the dead of winter. Blue lips. White skin. Those big, expressive eyes frozen in an endless stare.

Jason turned on his heel and started back towards the mine at a dead run.


	12. Unbound

_Okay, so you guys are awesome, and I'm uploading two chapters in a row. I might regret that later, as I'm slowly but surely catching up with myself and running out of pre-written chapters to post. But for now, I really love this chapter and the next one, and I had to post them together. So yeah._

_Tell me you're still you: In order for them to kiss, Jason must first take off his mask. And that is not an easy task to accomplish, for Ana or for Jason himself. The poor guy has some issues._

_Kyuubi123: Yep. Making Jason totally okay with this sudden attraction - and proximity - to Ana would have been completely unbelievable. Besides, I like building ridiculous levels of sexual tension in my stories. :)_

_Fluffykitten, m. Autumn, Pineapple Tart, and Lysaia: thank you for your reviews, and I'm so very glad you're enjoying the story so far.  
_

_Enjoy the double-feature! Is that even a word?_

* * *

**ANA**

_Well, you screwed _that_ up nicely, didn't you, Ana?_

"Shut up, brain," she muttered, picking herself up off the floor with a wince. Pain shot down her left arm. She'd landed on her wrist. Probably sprained it. And now she had a lovely matching bruise on her butt to go with the one on her head.

_Serves you right. What did you think was going to happen? That he'd sweep you up into his arms and carry you off into the sunset?_

"There _is_ no sunset, idiot, we're in a coalmine," she snapped, brushing the dirt and debris from her jeans.

Wait.

She lifted her good hand up to her face.

No chains.

She glanced around quickly, half-expecting Jason to appear out of nowhere, like freaking magic, summoned by the sudden revelation that she was unbound.

When he didn't jump out from behind the workbench, Ana sighed.

"Well, it isn't Stockholm Syndrome if I'm not tied up, right?"

_Wrong. That means it's __definitely_ _Stockholm Syndrome._

"Shut up. Stupid brain."

She sighed and sat down on the bed. She had two choices. She could leave the mine, and try to find her way back to her cabin, or she could stay and wait for Jason to return.

_If_ he returned.

Since she'd been brought here while she was unconscious, it was probably not in her best interest to try to find her way back to the cabin. She might get lost, or get eaten by a bear. And, though she didn't want to admit it, she was a little bit worried about what might happen if Jason found her wandering around in the woods.

In _his_ woods.

But she was also worried about what might happen if she stayed in the mine. What if he truly didn't want her here? What if he'd left her unbound intentionally, so that she would leave and never come back?

She leaned back against the mesh wall, trying to think her way out of this dilemma.

But her mind decided to think about Jason, instead.

How he had touched her, so gently, so reverently, as if she was a fragile, priceless treasure.

How his eyes had burned, bright and fierce and intelligent, as they explored her face.

How his gentle, calloused fingertips had stolen the air from her lungs, and left trails of delicious heat wherever they wandered.

How his heart had thundered beneath her hands.

Muscle. He was pure muscle. He'd tossed her off his lap like she was light as a feather. A rag doll.

She frowned at the thought. What had she done to deserve that? She hadn't dropped _herself_ in his lap. They were both stubborn, yet he had apparently expected her to give up her attempts to retrieve the note he'd written…

Speaking of which…

She glanced over the side of the bed.

That crumpled ball of paper was sitting on the floor, looking perfectly innocent, despite all the trouble it had caused.

She reached down and grabbed it, carefully pulling it apart and smoothing it out on her leg.

What was it she'd said to him?

"I forgot you don't like being touched, sorry," she muttered, lifting the wrinkled sheet of paper up to her lamp.

There, in that tiny, precise handwriting, was his reply:

_Don't be, I don't mind-_

And then he'd stopped, and scratched that out, and then, when she'd tried to get closer to read it, he'd torn the page out of the little notebook and crumpled it in his hand.

Ana frowned. That was it? _That_ was what he didn't want her to see?

_I don't mind._

He didn't mind what? Being touched?

What was so bad about that? Ana certainly didn't mind being touched.

_Especially by those big, warm, gentle hands…_

"Shut up, brain," she growled. Fantasizing about his hands would get her nowhere. Especially when those hands might be heading back to the mine carrying a very sharp machete.

She crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it back on the floor. Then she stood up, and sat back down again. She didn't know what to do with herself. She felt… strange. Confused. Weak.

And that made her angry.

Was this really what her life had come to? Being imprisoned by a psychopath, and developing Stockholm syndrome within the space of two days? Was she _that_ pathetic? Did she really want to stay here, in a dark, damp coalmine, and wait for her serial killer to return to her? He might kill her on sight. He might put her back in chains. The very idea of sitting around like some lost, sad little puppy, waiting for her abusive master to return… it made her sick.

And since freaking when had he become her _anything_?

She stood up again, and marched over to the makeshift doorway of her makeshift prison cell. She looked around, glanced up at the dingy ceiling, then down at the floor. Dirt, and rocks, and cement.

And an aluminum pail.

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

She _freaking_ hated that stupid _freaking_ bucket.

So she kicked it as hard as she could. She enjoyed a moment of intense satisfaction as she watched it sail through the air and crash down one of the mine tunnels, rolling into oblivion.

And then, immediately following the satisfaction came the pain. Intense and fierce, it rocketed up from her little toe, straight through her body to her brain.

"_Son of a biscuit licking bulldog!_" she snarled, beating her fists against her left leg while she held her damaged foot suspended in the air. She half-hopped, half-limped back to the bed and sat down with a heavy sigh.

Then she winced again, because she'd sat down too hard on her sore, bruised butt.

"I'm a freaking mess, aren't I?" she muttered as she rubbed her foot, trying desperately to soothe her agony. Why did she have to be such a smart aleck? Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut? Then he would never have thrown her First Aid kit into the abyss, and she'd be able to self-medicate her pain away with Tylenol and Ibuprofen and Nyquil.

Footsteps. Heavy and quick.

Ana jerked her head up just in time to see Jason appear at the far end of the room. His gaze went straight to her, and he froze.

For a moment, she was too overwhelmed by the tempest of emotion swirling within her to speak. He had come back to her. He wasn't holding his machete. She'd broken her toe. Her life was pathetic and pointless. Everything sucked.

When she opened her mouth to say something to him, the storm of thoughts and feelings within her coalesced into one magnificent tidal wave of misery and anger and frustration and self-pity.

And so, instead of speaking, she burst into tears.

* * *

_CLICK ONWARD, MY FRIENDS..._


	13. Sweet

_Yay! This is one of my favorite chapters so far. Enjoy!_

* * *

**JASON**

The first thing he thought when he saw Ana was:

_Thank God she's still here._

Followed immediately by:

_Why__ is she still here?_

Which directly preceded:

_She looks furious._

Then, quite suddenly, she started crying. Loudly. Hysterically. Between sobs, she kept trying to talk, but he could only decipher one or two words at a time. He heard "stupid," and "mean," and "bully," and then "Stockholm," and "pathetic." But he couldn't string the words into something cohesive without a few more nouns and pronouns, and she didn't seem to be capable of enunciating properly at the moment.

Jason considered himself to be a reasonably intelligent person. He read everything he could get his hands on, and his isolation had given him a lot time to think. He was capable, and quick, and highly skilled. He was a fast learner, observant, and unwavering in his dedication.

But he had absolutely no idea what to do to calm a crying woman.

Now, he knew _precisely_ what to do to shut them up. He could crush a woman's windpipe without breaking a sweat, but physical violence was out of the question. Besides, he did not necessarily want to shut her up; he really just wanted to… help. To fix the problem, whatever it was.

Quite frankly, he wanted to find whatever or whoever was causing her to cry, and destroy it. Or them.

And he didn't know how to go about that at all.

What an odd feeling.

For the first time in many, many years, he felt completely helpless.

_Talk to her_, a voice whispered, from deep within his mind. A quiet, encouraging voice. Not the harsh, feral demon that haunted his sleep and tormented him with insults and mockery.

Right. Talk to her. Women liked to talk. Especially this one.

He pulled the notepad out of his pocket and slid the pen from the spiral spine.

_Why are you crying?_

Hadn't he asked that same question about an hour or two earlier? Was this going to be a recurring thing?

He desperately hoped it wouldn't be.

He walked up to her and sat down on the bed, a foot or two away from her. He placed the notebook in the space between them.

Ana rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and snatched the notebook up. She had to blink a few times to clear her eyes of tears long enough to read his question.

"Why am I… _Why am I crying?!_" she shrieked, slamming the notebook back onto the bed and rounding on him, eyes wide and feral.

Jason blinked. He hadn't realized human vocal chords could produce such high-pitched sounds.

Apparently Ana was part bat.

"I'm crying because everything _sucks,_ that's why I'm crying! I'm pathetic, and stupid, and you're big and mean and confusing and I hate being lost and I'm hungry and I think I broke my toe on your _stupid_ pail and my butt hurts and I'm cold!" She took a deep breath, replenishing her oxygen supply for what Jason assumed would be a continuation of her rant. But instead she heaved a huge, dramatic sigh and shouted, "I _hate_ being cold!"

Jason watched her for a long moment, and then he calmly stood and walked out of the room. He could feel her eyes on him, glaring daggers that pricked at the back of his neck. He didn't glance back at her. He continued out of the cavern and up through the trapdoor to his cabin.

He spent most of the year in his mother's house, because it allowed him the ability to hear and feel and smell the forest and the lake. He only slept in the cavern during the coldest parts of the year, usually through January and February. He was not overly fond of sleeping beneath the ground; he felt too disconnected from the land, and that made him twitchy and irritable. Restless. Lost.

He stepped into his bedroom and sighed. His mother's big, ancient cast iron wood stove sat a few feet from his bed. He hadn't moved it in over twenty years. It had taken him nearly a month to drag it from the kitchen to the bedroom. The beast probably weighed upwards of three hundred pounds. It stood there, silently mocking him with its size.

But he was stronger now than he had been twenty years ago.

He moved around it and crouched, grabbing hold of the bottom edge. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip, and stood.

He was surprised when it came up from the floor without any trouble. He remembered it being overwhelming in its size and weight. He had never really paid much attention to how much he had grown in strength and size. He spent most of his time and energy patrolling his land and honing his skills. He had never stopped to think about how tall he was compared to other men, or how strong or fast. He knew only that he was strong enough and fast enough to kill anyone who tried to desecrate his land, and his mother's memory.

He carried the stove to the trap door, then down the tunnel and into his cavern.

The mine smelled like Ana, like summertime and citrus. She was in the same spot, curled up on her bed, watching him with a frown curling her soft lips.

_Don't think about her lips_, he commanded himself. He set the stove down a few feet from her bed, then turned and walked down one of the tunnels. About fifteen feet in, he found the old aluminum pail on the ground, with a small dent in the side. He chuckled. So _that_ was how Ana had hurt her foot.

He picked up the pail and took it with him as he continued down the tunnel, until he reached the large pile of firewood stacked against one side. He set the pail down and filled it with a few smaller logs, and then picked up a big pile of firewood and carried them both back into the cavern.

Ana's eyes narrowed when she saw the pail.

"Stupid bucket," she muttered, resting her chin on her knees as she watched him set the pile of firewood beside the stove. He left the pail beside her bed so that she could reach it easily, and then set a book of matches on the table. He used one of the matches to start the stove, and closed the grate.

"What about the smoke?" Ana asked.

Jason picked up the notebook from its resting place beside her.

_The mine is ventilated._

"Oh, right." Ana tilted her head up at him, and a small smile curled on those full, soft lips. "Thank you, Jason."

_You're welcome._

"Um. I'm sorry I yelled at you," she added. Her expression changed, shifting to that pitiful, sad puppy look.

Jason chuckled.

_Don't be. I deserved it._

Ana sighed. "No you didn't. I'm just stupid." She unfolded her legs and stretched them out towards the stove. "I shouldn't have kicked that freaking pail."

The pinky toe on her right foot was swollen, and it was starting to turn purple. Jason crouched beside the bed and wrapped one hand around her ankle. He heard her suck in a sharp breath, but she didn't try to escape. He touched her toe, very gently, and she winced.

He released her, and moved around the stove to sit on the bed, a safe distance away from soft lips and silky skin. He pulled the notebook out of his pocket.

_It's broken. You shouldn't put weight on it for a week or two._

Ana chuckled ruefully. "I guess you'll just have to carry me everywhere, won't you?"

Jason nodded.

"Wait, really?" She blinked at him, and grinned. "That's sweet."

He wanted to laugh. Of all the words used to describe him in his life, "sweet" was not among them. A month ago, he would never have believed it, that a beautiful woman would be sitting down to him, smiling and calling him things like "gentleman" and "sweet."

Such possibilities only existed in his dreams.

Except they didn't. Not anymore.

This was the second time she'd described him as "sweet."

He wanted to laugh, but he couldn't.

_Why didn't you run?_ he wondered.

Ana's smile faded. "Did you want me to?"

Immediately, he shook his head. Ana relaxed, and her lips curled upwards again.

"Well, the first thing I did when you left was kick that stupid pail, and after that I was in no shape to go _anywhere_."

Jason tilted his head at her and waited.

"Oh, you want a real answer," Ana said, biting her bottom lip in that way that made him twitch. "Well, I don't know where I am, really. I have a terrible sense of direction. And I was worried that if I got lost in the woods, I might get eaten by a grizzly bear. And…" she trailed off, and heaved a sigh. "I didn't… really… _want_ to leave."

_You didn't?_

She shrugged. "Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome. I don't know. I don't really care." She sent him a thoughtful half-frown. "You know, I don't remember the last time I smiled. I mean, _really_ smiled. Until you came along."

_What__ syndrome?_

"Stockholm. It's what happens when a prisoner begins to empathize with their captor. They interpret a lack of abuse as an act of kindness." She frowned. "It's weird, because you… you haven't abused me at all. You actually _have_ been kind to me."

_To be fair, I wasn't very kind to you earlier_, he noted.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't entirely your fault," she replied easily. "The point is… I didn't leave. So here we are."

Jason watched her for a long moment, wondering what he was going to do with her. This delightful and strange little creature with a penchant for getting into altercations with inanimate objects and smiling in a way that made him go hot and cold at the same time.

_Are you still cold?_

She grinned. Jason grit his teeth as the flame in his chest flickered and danced.

"Nope," she said happily. "Perfect."

Perfect.

Yes. She really was.

Jason stuck the notebook in his pocket and reached over, scooping her up into his arms as he stood. She made a sound, half-gasp and half-giggle, that made his heart jump and thunder in his chest.

"Oh, I like this much better," she said. "Now you're carrying me like a damsel in distress, instead of a lumpy sack of potatoes."

Jason laughed, that short, silent huff. He couldn't help it. And in response to his laugh, Ana grinned. And the little flame in his chest grew brighter and burned hotter.

He set her up on the worktable beside his grinding wheel, where he had sorted the food supply. Ana immediately reached out and snatched up a can of Spaghetti and Meatballs. She handed him the can and watched as he sliced it open with his blade and dumped its contents into the small copper pot sitting on his old hotplate.

He turned the hotplate on and then pulled the notebook out of his pocket.

_I'm going to sharpen my blade. Please do not sing._

Ana tilted her head up at him with a frown. "Why not?"

Jason sighed.

_Because it distracts me._

That sly, predatory smile curled her lips again. Jason narrowed his eyes at her.

_Please._

Ana heaved a sigh. "Fine."

She sat silently on the workbench and watched his every move; swinging her legs in time with some silent rhythm as he sharpened his machete, grinding away the nicks and dents that had occurred during his earlier activities. And as he sat there, trying to focus on his blade and not the glinting eyes watching him from his right, he realized that it wasn't just her singing that distracted him.

It was all of her.

He reached a stopping point and stood from the grinding wheel, resting his blade on the table beside Ana so he could grab the copper pot and a clean spoon. He set them both down on the other side of her, but she was too busy looking at the blade to take notice.

He stepped back a bit and watched her, more out of curiosity than caution; he wanted to know what she would do.

She reached out and touched the handle, trailing her fingertips over the smooth, worn leather.

"How long have you had this?" she asked, her voice soft. But not afraid.

Jason picked up the notebook from the worktable.

_23 years._

"Wow," she whispered. She reached out and touched her fingertip to the edge of the blade and yelped when a big drop of blood welled on her skin. "It's really sharp."

Jason just raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, "What did you expect?"

Ana rolled her eyes. "Well, I didn't expect it to be _that_ sharp." She picked the machete up carefully and handed it to him. "Here, put it away before I hurt myself. Again."

When he reached for it, their fingers touched. Her skin was cool and soft. He heard the tiny gasp she made, and wondered what it meant. Did she feel that electric tingle jolt through her arm, like he did?

Her eyes flickered in the light, and she bit her bottom lip. She looked thoughtful and… worried.

Jason slid his blade back in its holster and pointed her to the pot of spaghetti. She nodded silently and started eating, but when Jason turned and started walking away, she called out to him.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't intend to stop walking, but when he heard the tremor in her voice, his feet stopped. He didn't recall ordering them to stop. They just stopped.

He turned and found her watching him, holding the notebook in her lap. She looked perfectly calm, but her eyes were frightened. Concerned. Vulnerable. She held the notebook out to him.

For a moment, he just stood there and stared at her. And then his feet started moving again. On their own.

Back towards Ana.

He sighed and gently took the notebook from her.

_Firewood, water and kerosene. Down this tunnel._ He handed her the notebook, and when she looked up again, he pointed down the corridor he had started towards.

A blush tinged her cheeks. "Oh." She dropped her gaze and twirled her spoon in her pot of spaghetti. "Right. Okay."

Jason tilted his head at her, curious, and a little bit confused. He didn't like hearing that fear in her voice, and he _really_ didn't like seeing her look so… ashamed.

So he reached out and touched her chin, lifting her head so that she was looking him in the eye. And he waited.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I was just… curious."

He wrote quickly and held the notebook up for her.

_I'm not going to abandon you, Dasvidanya._

He watched her eyes follow his letters, and the smile that curled on her lips made his heart rate skyrocket. He hadn't written her name before.

"Call me Ana," she said quietly, dropping her gaze again. This time, it wasn't because she was ashamed. It was something else. Something like pleasure and shyness combined.

_Do you believe me, Ana?_

She bit her lip and nodded.

_I'll be right back._ He set the notebook on the table beside her and turned.

He felt her eyes follow him until he turned the corner and stepped out of sight.


	14. Safe

_Author's Note: Tada! My magical disappearing act was an epic success! And now I'm back, and I brought a new chapter with me. Sorry for the wait. To everyone who reviewed: thank you. You're awesome. _

_m . Autumn, thanks for the PM and the encouraging words! Everything's fine, except that there simply aren't enough hours in the day, and writer's block is a cruel wretch. But such is life. And yes, Ana is a tease, but I think Jason is worse. Just you wait and see. ;)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**ANA**

When Jason returned, Ana's eyes tracked him across the room, where he set an enormous stack of firewood down at the foot of her bed. She liked watching him, liked watching the way his body moved, the play of muscle beneath his clothing. He was so big, and yet he moved so quietly. He was surprisingly graceful. It was like watching a tiger prowling its territory, serenely confident and full of the promise of strength. It was fascinating.

_He_ was fascinating.

She continued to watch him as he walked towards her and took the now empty pot and set it in a big utility sink in the corner. He picked up a bucket of water that was sitting next to the sink and used some of it to clean the pot and set it back on the worktable. Then he turned to her and picked up the notebook.

_How is your foot?_

Ana shrugged. "It's okay." Funny, how she could have a complete emotional breakdown right in front of him, yet when questioned about her sore toe, she suddenly felt the need to pretend she had no weaknesses. Felt no pain.

Her brain was a strange, stupid, and mysterious thing.

To his credit, Jason's eyes were skeptical. He didn't press the subject, though. After a moment, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to the bed. He turned and retrieved the notebook from the workbench and brought it over to her, sitting down next to her on the bed. His weight dented the mattress, causing Ana to slide towards him a few inches. She bit her lip and tried to focus on what he'd written instead of the wall of heat sitting just within her reach.

_I'm going to walk the perimeter of the lake._

A knot tightened in her stomach. She didn't want him to leave.

Didn't make any sense, but that was how it was.

"I'd ask if I could come with you, but…" she shrugged and nodded towards her swollen foot. "Maybe next time."

He tilted is head at her. _I did not think you would want to. It's very cold. A storm is coming._

Ana grinned.

"I'm Russian," she said with a heavy fake accent, "vee don't get cold."

Jason's eyes wrinkled in amusement. _So I carried the stove down here for nothing, then?_

Ana laughed. "Okay, you got me there. Is it snowing yet?"

_No._

Ana narrowed her eyes down at the notebook, letting a smile curl her lips. "So informative," she teased. "When will it start? What's the forecast?"

Jason's bright blue eyes narrowed, but Ana could see the glint within them.

_Are you testing my knowledge of weather patterns or trying to get me to stay longer?_

"Both," she replied instantly, flashing him a cheeky grin.

He paused. Picked up the notebook again. Started writing.

_There is a cold front heading down from Canada, about three days away; a low-pressure system is moving northeast along the Appalachian Mountains. When the two systems meet, they will create a severe winter storm. Ten to twelve inches of snow, strong winds, low visibility. Blizzard conditions. And I __will__ be back in a few hours. I give you my word. Happy?_

Ana laughed. "Yes, Jason," she said with a nod.

He went still, and all humor dissolved from his gaze.

_Really?_

Ana blinked, and forced her gaze away from those bright, sharp blue eyes. She bit her lip. "I think so," she said softly. "I just…"

He moved closer, into her line of vision, forcing her to look back up at him. His eyes asked the question as easily as any words.

"I just miss being outside," she said with a helpless shrug. "I miss seeing the sky."

A shadow flickered across his eyes. Doubt.

Then it was gone, and he was moving towards her, faster than she thought possible. God, how was it possible for a man that big to move so fast? Before she could open her mouth to speak, he had scooped her up into his arms, damsel-in-distress style, and was carrying her down one of the tunnels. His pace slowed to a casual walk, but his eyes remained dead set ahead of them, unblinking and intense.

"Um. Jason?"

Those pale eyes flickered down to her.

"Are you angry at me again?"

He returned his gaze to the tunnel with a single shake of his head. Ana frowned, worried by this sudden burst of activity. Had she offended him, somehow?

"Are you sure?"

This time, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced down at her again. One nod, simple and sweet.

"You know you can tell me where we're going, right?" she continued, fully aware that she was babbling. "It doesn't always have to be a surprise. Don't get me wrong; I like surprises. Usually. Just maybe not right at this moment." Her mind felt fuzzy around the edges, and her eyes were sore and scratchy. What time was it, anyway? How long had she been awake, fighting back her panic? The sun had set eons ago. It had to be midnight, at least.

Jason rounded a bend in the corridor and came to a stop in front of a big, rusty old ladder that led to a square trapdoor in the ceiling. Without pause, he reached up and shoved the trapdoor open, readjusted his grip on Ana - who was busy trying to ignore the tingling sensation that blossomed along her skin wherever his hands touched - and carried her up out of the mine.

And into the middle of a meadow at the edge of the lake.

"Christ almighty," Ana whispered. A bitterly cold gust of wind cut through her, raising goosebumps along her skin. But she didn't care. She was too busy looking.

The world was blue and pink and gold, and the sun was just beginning to peek out from above the mountains. The sky was clear but for a few wispy clouds high in the atmosphere. A pale, delicate frost covered every surface, every branch, every blade of grass, and as the sun slowly moved higher in the sky, it turned the tall grass into a field of sharp, glittering diamonds that swayed with every breath of wind. The lake mirrored the rainbow sky, as smooth and still as glass.

"It's so beautiful."

Jason's grip tightened, drawing her attention back to him. His eyes were fixed on her, solemn and intense. Ana smiled up at him.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He did not respond, not even with his eyes. He just watched her. Ana didn't mind. She didn't really need a response; he'd brought her up here, shared something with her that very few people had ever seen. And that was more than enough.

After a few minutes, Ana could no longer suppress her shivers.

"You were right," she said with a wince. "It _is_ cold."

Jason turned and started back towards the trapdoor, and Ana sighed. She wished she could accompany him on his walk. She wanted to see the lake, and the forest, and the distant mountains glowing with sunlight, but it just wasn't feasible. Maybe in a few weeks, when her stupid toe was healed…

_Hold the phone._

Weeks?

When had she started thinking in terms of weeks? When had it changed from taking things one day at a time, sometimes even one _minute_ at a time when she was talking herself through a panic attack, to thinking of the long term? She was still technically a captive, even though she didn't much feel like one. She should be plotting escape. She should be waiting for a breach in his defenses, ready to whack him over ht head or trip him or stab him with his own machete.

But the thought of hurting him made a knot tighten painfully in her stomach.

And the thought of leaving him made her break out in a cold sweat.

Separation anxiety. That was what this was. It had to be.

_Why_? Why was her brain so broken? Why had she developed separation anxiety for a killer? Wasn't that something only _dogs_ suffered from? When they barked and whined every time you tried to leave the house?

Christ. Was she that pathetic? Maybe he was done with her. Maybe he was tired of her, and he was going to leave her out here in the middle of Bum-Freaking-Nowhere, West Virginia to die in the approaching blizzard. It would serve her right, for being such a fantastic idiot.

_Why?_ she demanded of her brain.

Why couldn't she have just been a normal person, with normal reactions to things like fear and life threatening encounters with serial killers? Then she might have screamed or tried to escape, and he would have cut her head off or thrown her into the lake.

And she wouldn't be suffering all this doubt and confusion, this chaotic jumble of emotions.

Why did she feel so comfortable with him?

Why did his touch make her heart beat faster?

Why did his quiet presence bring her the kind of peace of mind that she hadn't felt since her parents had abandoned her?

Why was Jason still walking?

Ana's mind snapped out of her little pity party in an instant, and she whipped her head around, taking in the shadowed trees, the pale mist, the sunlight glinting off the lake. And the trapdoor that led back into the mines, growing smaller behind them with each long stride of Jason's legs.

She looked up at him, opened her mouth, and then shut it again. He didn't _look_ angry. His eyes were set straight ahead, relentlessly focused on the path before them. He stepped around a fallen tree trunk, and a gust of wind came off the lake and slapped them both in the face.

Ana shivered. Jason's grip tightened further.

"Are you going to leave me out here?" she asked his chest. Her voice sounded small to her own ears. Weak.

Stupid voice.

Jason stopped walking. He looked down, waited until she peeked up at him, and pinned her with smiling eyes. Shook his head, just once. And started walking again.

"Good, because I'd kill you," Ana muttered. Jason huffed a laugh, and she allowed herself to relax in his arms. She watched as the trees slid by, surprised at how quietly he moved. The only sound was the soft crunch of his boots on pine needles. His steps were not jarring, but smooth and confident.

Ana's eyes slid closed, and she rested her head against his shoulder. If he was surprised by this, he gave no indication. So she allowed herself to enjoy the moment, to listen to the sound of the forest waking up around them. To listen to the sound of his steady breathing. He smelled like soap and rain and coal. Earthy. Solid. She could feel the muscles in his arms, hard and thick and wrapped securely around her.

He felt… safe.

She smiled to herself, as weariness washed through her, drawing the strength from her body. The call of oblivion lured her away, no matter how much she wanted to remain in the moment, in his arms, surrounded by nature.

_Worth it,_ her brain murmured. _Worth it for this._

She couldn't find the energy to disagree with her brain.

She wasn't sure she wanted to.


	15. Good

_Author's Note: This is a pretty long chapter. First, I got caught up inside Ana's head, and then Jason decided he wanted to have a little fun with her. The more I write him, the more I enjoy his sense of humor. I'm sorry if the writing doesn't flow as well as it usually does; I've been having trouble concentrating lately.__  
_

_Shout out to my Chapter 14 reviewers: Tell Me You're Still You, Oh Me Oh My, GypsyWitchBaby, m . Autumn (thank you for the offer, by the way; I will definitely hit you up if I run in to any more plot walls), Ectprincess, Plague's Vengeance, and Demise. You are all awesome and I hope you enjoy this chapter._

* * *

**ANA**

True to his word, Jason was still sitting next to her when she woke up later that evening. His weight dented the mattress, drawing her down against his back, and delicious warmth radiated from his body. It was colder now than when she'd fallen asleep. The blizzard he had predicted was getting closer.

The sun had already set, and the room was dark, so when she opened her eyes, she could see his profile silhouetted against the orange glow from the wood stove. She took a moment to study him, and once again, she was struck by just how large he was.

She'd met some big guys in her lifetime; Max had played football in college, and so had a lot of his friends. But none of them measured up to Jason. He was a perfect storm of genetics and environment, extremely tall, heavily muscled, ridiculously strong and fit enough to carry her for three hours straight, and smart as a whip.

And at the moment, he was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying something in his hands that was hidden from her line of sight. She couldn't see his eyes in the darkness, but he had a solemn air about him. Ana was hesitant to intrude upon his reverie.

At some point, in her sleep, she had released his arm. She wished she hadn't. For some reason, the urge to touch him was incredibly strong at the moment, so much so that she was having difficulty keeping herself still.

Perhaps it was the air of wistfulness that surrounded him. Usually he was so alert and focused, so aware of everything that went on around him.

But now…

Now he seemed lost. Vulnerable.

She recognized that look. She knew it well.

After a moment, Jason glanced over at her, and she saw in his eyes that he'd known she was awake the entire time. Ana smiled, ignoring the blush that crept into her cheeks.

"I didn't want to disturb you," she said quietly.

Jason closed his fist around whatever it was he'd been holding and put it in his left jacket pocket, then reached over and picked up the notebook.

_You didn't. Are you hungry?_

She was, but for some reason she didn't to admit it. She didn't want him to leave, to turn away from her. She frowned, frustrated by how unhelpful her brain was being. She wanted… What? There was something about his eyes that made her want to be closer to him, somehow. To comfort him.

She wanted…

To be in his arms.

The thought sent a sharp jolt of surprise through her. She forced herself not to edge away from him; he did not deserve that kind of rejection, especially not when he had agreed to stay with her while she slept.

And, more importantly, she didn't _want_ to be away from him, not even a little bit.

_Stop being stupid,_ her brain said irritably. _Just admit that you want him._

"Yes," she said after a long moment. She wasn't sure if she was answering herself or Jason's question.

She didn't know _what_ she wanted anymore.

She knew what she _should_ want. She _should_ want to be home, with Max, arguing about something stupid and making plans to go out to the new sushi restaurant that just opened in Soho. She should be trying to escape the serial killer who had abducted her several days ago. She should at least be angry at him about it.

The fact that she wasn't just made her feel all the more… broken.

_Not broken,_ her brain whispered, _just different._

She remembered his hands ghosting along her skin, warm and rough and so gentle, so careful. She remembered the deep, hot swirl of desire that had come to life within her at his touch. Desire unlike anything she had ever felt before, the kind of desire that made her reckless and feverish, desperate for more. Desperate for him.

She bit her lip, and watched his eyes follow the movement. His gaze darkened, and his shoulders tensed. She saw, in that moment, the same surprise that she had felt at the realization that she wanted him.

He was on his feet in an instant, moving away from her, towards the workbench where he kept the food.

Ana pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying not to let his sudden rejection sting. She leaned back against the mesh wall behind the bed and pulled her blankets around her, cocooning her body in a protective layer of fluffy cotton and wool. She kept her bad foot outside of the cocoon, still propped on the small pile of shirts to keep it elevated.

As she watched him heat up her dinner, she wondered if he ever ate. She hadn't seen him take so much as a sip of water since she'd been here. Be he had to eat. He was huge; it would take a massive amount of food to fuel his body.

_Don't think about his body_, she told herself angrily.

Maybe he ate when she was asleep?

When Jason set the steaming pot of food on the side table - spaghetti and meatballs this time, one of her favorites - Ana sighed and sent him a small smile.

"Thank you, Jason," she said quietly. She unraveled her cocoon halfway, freeing her arms, and grabbed the pot by its handle to set it on the blankets piled around her waist. As she ate, she watched as Jason sat down at the foot of the bed and leaned back against the wire mesh wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He had lost that thoughtful, distracted air, but he still seemed to be contemplating something.

He waited patiently while she finished her spaghetti and when she was done he gently took the pot from her and washed it in the utility sink.

Then he returned to her side and, without warning, reached inside her blanket cocoon and scooper her up into his arms. Ana's stomach flipped at the sudden weightlessness, and the pressing heat of his body against hers. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

She should have been able to pay better attention to where they were going this time, but she was too busy feeling. She couldn't help herself. His arms were hooked behind her knees and shoulders, cradling her against his chest. So much muscle it was ridiculous. How had he gotten so big?

How was he always so warm?

He carried her to the bathroom, and then picked her back up again and continued down the mineshaft, towards the waterfall. Ana watched as the walls gradually became less smooth and engineered. When Jason finally stepped through the wide crack in the wall, and into the cavern, Ana was already shivering.

"How is this going to work?" she wondered, raising her voice over the sound of the waterfall. She arched an eyebrow up at Jason. "I can't put weight on my foot, remember?"

A sudden image rose up in her mind of Jason holding her, naked, beneath the waterfall. A sudden, hot rush of desire burned through her body.

Jason, blessedly oblivious to her thought process, continued walking, stepping around the waterfall and continuing through the cavern. Ana turned her head to see where they were going, but it was completely dark up ahead. The sound of the waterfall slowly began to fade, and all she could hear was the crunch of dirt and rocks beneath Jason's boots.

Finally, he stopped. Ana waited, curious. She had no choice, really. She wasn't worried that he was going to hurt her, but there was a tiny wriggling fear in the back of her mind that kept sliding to the surface.

_He's going to leave you here, in the dark._ She remembered that voice, the same voice that had always whispered in her mind, ever since she had wandered out of that gas station and her father's car had been gone.

Jason lowered her to the ground, and Ana reached up and grabbed handfuls of his jacket. Instantly, the panic shot to the surface. Jason slid his arms out from beneath her, but when he tried to stand, she tightened her grip and wouldn't let go.

"Don't," she said, cursing the panicked tremor in her voice.

He paused. His hands covered hers, warm and calloused. He gently, but firmly, pried her fingers from his jacket.

So she latched on to his hands instead.

He tried to pull away from her.

_Alone. In the dark. Forever._

"Please," she whispered.

Jason sighed. Instead of trying to wrench free from her grasp, he laced the fingers of his left hand with hers, and squeezed gently. He did not try to pull away again. He just sat there, allowing her to hold his hands like they were her last tether to reality.

The panic receded. Her heartbeat began to calm. He wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to abandon her. She allowed him to pull his right hand free, because he was still holding on tight with the other hand. She was shivering again, even though it wasn't quite as cold here.

Wait.

That was strange.

She was sitting on smooth, dry rock. And it wasn't cold.

Jason moved, but his hand remained with Ana, clutched tightly to her chest. She heard a noise behind her, the sound of sandpaper rasping against something.

Light flickered to life.

Jason was sitting cross-legged at her side, reaching around behind her, where he'd struck a match and lit a lantern. Ana looked up and found those pale, vivid blue eyes staring directly at her. Narrowed, but not upset. Not unhappy, either. They just looked curious and… resigned.

His eyes flickered down, to where Ana had his hand locked with hers, pressed tight between her breasts.

Heat rushed to her face. She released him, and he pulled his hand back, flexing his fingers gingerly.

She _had_ been holding on pretty tight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Jason didn't reply. He reached behind her and picked up the lantern, and set it up on a small ledge. As the light filtered through the darkness, Ana was finally able to see where he had taken her.

It was a small cavern, with smooth, glistening walls that curved up over their heads in a graceful arch. In the distance, she heard water droplets falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Jason had set her on a flat ledge that stretched about ten feet out and then dropped down into a large pool of crystal clear water. The light did not reach far, and it faded back into darkness before reaching the other end of the cavern.

Ana reached out and touched the water, and gasped. It was warm. Deliciously warm. She glanced over her shoulder at Jason and grinned.

"Hot springs?"

He nodded. Then he pulled her notebook out of his pocket and crouched down beside her.

_Are you like this with everyone?_

She frowned, and drew her knees up to her chest, closing up as the blush crept back into her cheeks. She knew what he was talking about, and she wasn't too keen to talk about it.

But Jason would know if she lied.

"No," she muttered.

He paused, wrote one word, and set the notebook down beside her and dropped the pen on the rock beside it.

_Good._

"What do you… how is that… what?" She narrowed her eyes up at him. He reached over behind the lantern, grabbed a bar of soap from the shallow ledge and placed it beside her. Then he turned around and sat down with his back to her. Effectively ignoring her. Blocking her out.

_Good?_

"Jason?"

No answer.

"What does that even mean?"

He didn't move.

"Jason!"

Still nothing.

"Hey, come on, this isn't fair," she said to his back, frowning. "You can't just say something like that and then ignore me."

When he did, indeed, continue to ignore her, Ana scooted over to him and gently poked his shoulder. "Jason?"

He didn't move.

She poked his ribs, harder this time. He twitched and glanced over his shoulder, sending her a warning look.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He huffed, an adorable mixture of a laugh and a sigh, and turned away again.

"Fine," she said archly, studying his back through narrowed eyes. "Two can play at that game." She turned and scooted back to the edge of the rock, pulled off her sweater, and shimmied out of her jeans and underwear. She slid down into the water with a deep, happy sigh.

Then she cupped her hands together and sent a wave of water towards Jason's back. Her aim was good; he looked like he'd been hit with a water balloon.

He turned, slowly, eyes wide with disbelief.

Ana smiled innocently in return, resting her arms on the rock ledge and propping her chin on her hands.

Jason stood, and approached her, every movement of his body slow and lithe.

He looked menacing. Intimidating. Predatory.

It occurred to her, in that moment, that if she'd ever seen him walking towards her like that before she'd gotten to know him, she would have definitely come to the conclusion that he intended to kill her. And she probably would have screamed.

But now, she could see the glint in his eyes. Mischief. She didn't move; she refused to back down. The shadow cast by the lamp kept her body from view.

He crouched in front of her, put one big hand on the top of her head, and shoved her down below the surface.

She popped back up out of the water, laughing. "Is that the best you can do?" she taunted, splashing him again. He growled very softly at her, despite the amusement in his eyes.

When he reached over and turned the lantern off, she stopped laughing. Darkness descended around them. Silence pressed in on all sides.

Ana slid her hand along the rock ledge, searching for him, for physical proof that he was still nearby. When she didn't find him, she pulled herself up, halfway out of the water and reached out further. Her hands met with empty air.

"Jason?" she whispered. "This isn't funny!" The panic started again, creeping up through her mind and body, like a poisonous snake, infecting everything, seizing her muscles, forcing her heart to beat painfully fast.

He grabbed her arm, and she yelped in surprise, struggling instinctively to escape.

He released her very suddenly, and she fell backwards into the water with a splash.

That sneaky son of a biscuit licking…

She surfaced, coughing, and found that light had returned to the cavern. Jason was standing there, arms crossed, head tilted, watching her with satisfied eyes.

Ana crossed her arms over her bare chest and pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "You have a cruel sense of humor," she muttered, moving back to the rock ledge. "But you're not going to win that easily."

She sent another wave of water at him. He immediately reached for her, crouching down and leaning over the ledge. Ana abandoned all attempts at modesty, reached up, took hold of his arm, and pulled him down into the water beside her.

Her laughter echoed through the cavern as he fell in.

She watched the water, waiting for him to surface.

Seconds ticked by in silence.

Ana's smile withered. She scanned the pool, searching for him.

"Jason?"

_Think about what you just did,_ her brain scolded. _Think about it…_

Oh, crap.

Crap, crap, crap.

Hadn't he almost drowned as a child?

_Crap_.

And she'd pulled him headfirst into the water.

_Crap!_

Fear took hold of her, deep in her chest, a sharp, cold fist squeezing her heart. She immediately dove down into the water, arms spread wide, searching for him. The light was a weak, golden haze that couldn't penetrate more than a few feet beneath the surface. Ana resurfaced, took a deep breath, and dove again.

_Oh, God, I killed Jason Voorhees_, she thought, searching the darkness with panic flooding her veins._Oh God, oh God, oh God._

She surfaced again. "Crap! Jason?" She took a deep breath, and started to go under to search for him again.

From behind her, a big, strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her up against an equally big, strong chest.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered. She took deep, heaving breaths in a futile attempt to calm the panic that raged through her. He was treading water, breathing calmly, and holding her in a viselike grip.

"Don't scare me like that," she scolded him irritably.

He didn't respond. Ana turned her head to look up at him, and found his eyes solemn and intense.

And then she remembered that she was naked. And that she was pressed very tightly against him. His clothes were rough against her skin. His grip was becoming painful.

"Jason?" She slid her fingertips along his arm, and when she touched his hand, he released her abruptly. She turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. "Are you going to freak out on me again?" she demanded, her voice low.

He tilted his head. She inched closer to him, slowly and cautiously, like she was approaching a wild animal. If he freaked out like he had when he'd dropped her in his lap, she wasn't about to let him run away and leave her again. Not when she was in a freaking _cave_ in the middle of freaking nowhere. Naked.

His eyes were blank. Just below his mask, Ana could see the muscles of his jaw tensing. He looked like he was struggling.

Ana edged closer.

He reached for the ledge.

She pounced, lunging forward and latching her arms around his neck. He froze, one hand on the ledge, staring down at her with wide, wary eyes.

"Nope," she said simply, "not this time."

He grabbed her arms and started to pry them from around his neck.

So she wrapped her legs around his waist.

And she smiled.


	16. Chaos

_Author's Note: I just can't make anything easy for poor Jason, can I? I'm such a meanie. _

* * *

_**JASON**_

His mind was in chaos. Total chaos. He was completely unprepared for this.

Unprepared for her.

Ana was watching him with dark, intense eyes. Her skin glistened in the dim, golden light. Every inch of her body was pressed against him, wrapped around him. She was setting him on fire.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly.

He knew that.

She tilted her head. "Why do you keep running away from me?"

He couldn't think straight. He couldn't function. He couldn't move. He could only feel. Her breasts pressed to his chest, her arms around his neck, her body warm and lithe and strong.

Stronger than he'd expected.

He released the ledge, and let his hands fall beneath the water. Bad idea. They came to rest on her thighs, which were wrapped tightly around his waist.

At his touch, Ana sucked in a breath, arching her back, pressing herself more tightly to him. Her eyelids fluttered. Jason slid his hands over her skin. So soft. So warm. So electrifying. He was addicted to her, completely entranced. He reached up, brushing his calloused fingertips over her ribs, fascinated by the shallow, gasping breaths she was taking.

_What are you doing, fool?_

The voice came out of nowhere, harsh and loud, screaming through his mind, shattering the blissful silence that had descended within him.

He froze. Ana's eyes snapped open. For a split second, Jason wondered if she'd heard the voice, too.

But that was ridiculous. He was the only one tormented by that voice. That hateful, mocking demon.

_Fool,_ it called him. _Pathetic, hideous fool. She doesn't want you. She will _never_ want you._

_But she does,_ he thought suddenly, knowing the truth of his words_._

The voices were silent for a moment. They were not accustomed to being talked back to.

_How would you know?_ the demon demanded with a laugh.

"Jason?" Ana whispered, frowning. "What's wrong?"

_You are pathetic,_ the voice whispered, growing in strength, growing in numbers, now that he was listening to it. To them. Now that he wasn't blinded by desire. _You are hideous. You are a freak. She doesn't want you. She will never want you._

But she did. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel her pulse thundering, he could hear her breathing, rapid and shallow. She wanted him. He knew she wanted him.

_Remember Celia,_ the voices whispered.

Jason went still.

_Remember how you ended up in the lake._

Ana must have seen something in his eyes at that moment, because her grip on him tightened.

"_No!_" she growled, surprising him with the strength and anger in her voice. The demon's laughter in his mind faded beneath the intensity of her gaze. "Don't look at me like that."

He tilted his head at her.

"Like... like you think I'm going to hurt you or something." She bit her lip. "You looked at me like that last time, too."

Yes, he probably had.

Ana sighed. "You're uncomfortable. I get it. I'll let go of you. But… just don't run away, okay?"

She waited until he nodded before she released him from her grip and swam backwards, away from him. He instantly felt the loss of her touch; it was a sharp pain in his chest, a hollow ache, a strange, sweet kind of desperation. He almost reached out for her, to pull her back against him, to slide his hands over that soft, delicious skin.

But the voices laughed at him, so he remained still.

Ana reached up and grabbed the bar of soap, then turned her back to him and started lathering it over her skin. She kept glancing over her shoulder at him, eyes wary, as if to make sure he didn't bolt.

But he wasn't going anywhere. His eyes were glued to her, to the hazy silhouette of her naked body beneath the water. His hands itched, aching to reach out for her. She wouldn't fight him if he did. He knew that. It wasn't her that he was worried about.

It was his own bitter, haunted mind. It was the voices he feared. They followed him everywhere.

When she was done, she turned around and handed him the soap. He tilted his head at her.

"What?" She frowned at him, and then her eyes narrowed, glinting with amusement. "I won't peek. I promise."

He didn't really believe her, but he _was_ already in the water. He might as well.

He started to pull off his jacket, and froze when Ana swam closer, stopping a foot away.

He waited for the voices to start up again. They didn't.

"Let me help," she suggested. Jason tilted is head at her. He didn't need any help undressing himself. He wasn't entirely sure why she'd offered to do so.

Then she bit her lip, and his body tightened in response. He nodded before he could talk himself out of it.

She swam closer, reaching around behind him and tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, sliding it down off his arms. When she started to set the jacket on the rock ledge, Jason stopped her, opened the jacket up, and wrapped it around her shoulders, concealing her naked body from his sight.

He had hoped that would help with the temptation, but instead, the sight he was met with, of Ana draped in his coat with a shy smile on her face, made the primitive, possessive side of him come roaring to life, full of masculine satisfaction and approval. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

Ana slid her hands into the sleeves and moved closer to him, slowly, cautiously, as if she was approaching a wounded animal. Jason felt amusement slither through him. In many ways, she _was_ approaching a wounded animal.

He should have felt cornered, but he didn't. He half-expected the demon voices to come roaring back to the surface of his mind, but they didn't.

She reached out for him, and her fingertips danced along his waistline, tugging gently at his t-shirt, sliding up over the sensitive skin that stretched across his ribs. She helped him pull the shirt over his head, and then her hands returned to his chest, like magnets.

Still, the voices remained silent.

"God, you're all muscle," she murmured, tracing the lines of his abdomen. Her eyes were cast downward, following the line of his collarbone, and the muscles and tendons on his shoulders, down into the water. Her fingertips continued their delicious torment across his chest.

He caught her hands, and, without thinking, he pulled her closer, until she was pressed up against him, wrapped in the rough cloth of his jacket. He liked that. He liked having her in his clothing, knowing that she was naked beneath it.

She backed away slightly, and the sudden loss of her touch sent a wave of fury through him so sharp and fierce that it sucked the air from his lungs. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to kill something. Anything to get her back in his arms.

When she reached for his belt, the fury dissipated instantly, gone like wisps of smoke in the wind. His blood started to boil. Her fingertips, so delicate, so gentle, sent bolts of electricity through him with every touch. She made quick work of the buckle, pulling his belt off and setting it on the ledge beside them. And then her fingers settled at his waist again and started unbuttoning his pants.

A growl rumbled from deep inside his chest. Ana paused, glancing up at him with wide eyes.

Whatever she saw in his gaze made her bite her lip. That delicious blush rose up in her cheeks again. On impulse, Jason reached up to touch her lips.

_Hideous freak._

His hand froze halfway out of the water. He grit his teeth, fighting the urge to shove her away. Instead, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her backwards, releasing her so that she floated out of arm's reach.

Ana frowned up at him, looking hurt and confused. And a little bit angry.

"What did I do this time?" she asked, sticking her bottom lip out in an adorable pout.

Jason felt his heart drop. He shouldn't punish her for his own mind's hatefulness. He knew that. He knew it was unfair. But he just… he'd never been in this situation before.

That was a massive understatement.

He'd never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined that he would be in a position even _remotely_ similar to this. He was completely lost. He had no idea what to do, and so he had no shields to protect him from the tormentors in his mind.

Ana must have seen something in his eyes that calmed her. She sighed. "Hurry up, so we can get back and you can start talking to me again," she commanded, turning her back to him decisively. Jason smiled, despite himself. He pulled off his shoes and socks and set them on the ledge, and then tugged off his pants and rubbed the soap over his skin, moving quickly and efficiently. When he was done, he glanced over at Ana, hesitated for a moment, and then pulled himself up out of the water. He pulled his pants back on and stepped into his boots, then folded his shirt and set it on top of his shoes. He gathered Ana's clothes and set them on top of his shirt, and tossed the notebook on top of the pile.

He turned and found her staring up at him, eyes wide, mouth open. Her expression was a mixture of awe and disbelief. Jason tilted his head at her, but she wasn't looking at his head. Her eyes were sliding over his naked chest and arms. He could almost feel her gaze, like the brush of hot silk against his skin.

She blinked, and licked her lips, and then lifted her eyes, meeting his gaze almost defiantly.

He reached down and offered her his hands. She put her hands in his, and he lifted her straight up out of the water and set her gently on her feet.

His jacket dwarfed her, so she used one hand to hold it closed and kept the other on his arm so that she could balance on her good foot. Jason bent down and handed her the pile of clothing, blew the lamp out, and quickly scooped her up into his arms. She made that adorable squeaking noise again, and suddenly Jason was trying very hard not to think too much about what, exactly, he was carrying in his arms.

A delightfully naked woman. A beautiful woman. A strange woman. One who laughed in the face of terror. Whose voice had the power to captivate him entirely. Whose smile made fire burn inside him. Whose hands kept straying to his naked chest in the darkness as he tried to navigate his way back to the mine.

By the time they finally reached the cavernous room, Jason was seriously considering chaining Ana back to the bed. How else could he make sure her mischievous hands didn't keep straying to him at every opportunity?

But he knew he couldn't put the chains back on her. The thought of seeing that smile on her face melt away made something painful happen in his chest.

And besides that… he didn't really mind her mischievous hands.

He put her down on the bed and took the bundle of clothes from her arms, setting his boots in front of the stove to dry. He picked up the notebook and wrote quickly.

_Going to get dry clothes._ He handed her the notebook and turned without waiting for an answer. He needed some fresh air; he needed to clear his mind of this delicious, tempting haze. She had cast a spell on him. His limbs felt languid and heavy. He could feel the pull at his muscles, as if their bodies had been magnetized.

He opened the trap door and jumped up into the hallway of his mother's house, and instantly felt a blast of cold air hit him, stabbing freezing needles on his bare, damp skin. He took a deep breath, forcing the smell of Ana out of his head, and walked quickly into his old room to grab a clean shirt and pair of pants. He stripped off his wet clothes and used an old rag to wipe the last drops of water from his skin. Even in the harsh winter air, he felt overheated. Steam rose from his skin as he pulled on the dry clothes.

He glanced up through a hole in the roof to note the location of the moon and the stars; it was nearly midnight. He should eat something and try to get some sleep.

He looked down at his old bed, and sighed. Without the stove, it would be much too cold to sleep up here. And when the blizzard hit, staying in the open air would be fatal.

He'd sleep in the mine, then. Ana would be pleased to have him nearby, at least.

_Are you like this with everyone?_

_No._

The feelings that rose up within him when he thought of what she had said earlier, they were new. They were unusual. A potent mixture of possessiveness and jealousy.

He actually liked the fact that she was so fiercely attached to him.

What an odd feeling that was.

He grabbed his wet clothes and jumped back down into the tunnel, closing the trap door and walking down towards the mine. He wasn't entirely sure what he would find, whether Ana would be sitting in his jacket, or if she was already dressed in her own clothes. Doubt haunted him, nipping at his heels like a hungry dog. What if she didn't smile at him when he returned? What if she stopped smiling altogether?

What if she came to her senses and realized how repulsive he was? What if she screamed when he touched her?

The very thought of it made a small bubble of panic rise up within him. He quickened his pace, determined to find out how she would react now that they had both had time to calm down and come back to their senses.

But he found, when he rounded the corner and stepped into the room, that Ana was not upset with him at all.

She was reclined on the bed, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and she was humming. A distracted smile curled her lips. She'd hung his jacket on an old wooden chair, propped up near the wood stove to dry.

Jason felt his panic ease, felt the pull on his body again, urging him towards her. He grabbed a water bottle from the workbench and set it down in place of the empty one on her table.

"Thank you," she said, her voice calm. "Now chain me back to the wall."


	17. Helpless

Hi, guys! I think you'll like this one. It made me giggle when I wrote it.

* * *

**ANA**

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring down at her with disbelieving eyes.

"Temporarily, of course," she clarified. "Chain me up, and I'll turn my back to you, and then you can eat in peace, without having to worry about me sneaking up on you and ripping your mask off. Or whatever it is that worries you about eating around me."

His eyes narrowed. He picked up their notebook from the side table, where she'd set it while she laid out their clothes to dry, and wrote something quickly.

_Are you insane?_

Ana laughed. "I don't know. Maybe."

Truth be told, she was beginning to think she'd lost touch with reality the moment she'd woken up in the coalmine. What other explanation could there be for this sudden, overwhelming attraction to him?

Other than his remarkable intelligence, of course. And his delightful sense of humor. And all those muscles. And the fact that he'd gone out of his way to make her more comfortable. And the gentleness with which he touched her.

Crap. There were a hundred explanations for why she was so attracted to him that had absolutely nothing to do with her sanity. Or lack thereof.

"You need to eat something, Jason," she said.

He moved closer and knelt down beside the bed, putting himself at her eye level. He watched her for a minute or two, and then set the notebook on the bed beside her hip.

_I'm not going to put those chains on you again._

"I'll put them on myself, then," she replied, ignoring her stupid, fluttering heart. She was touched by his determination to allow her to keep her freedom.

_Stop being stubborn,_ he wrote.

"You'll have better luck telling the sun to stop shining."

_I can't stick the sun under a frigid waterfall._

Ana gasped. "You wouldn't!"

_Try me._

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. She didn't _really_ think he would do it; he'd have to get drenched in the icy water, too. But still. It was probably better not to press the subject.

Just in case.

Jason's eyes were confident, even a little bit smug.

Anger flickered within her. It was the smugness. That was what got her. He was right, and he knew it. He was used to being right.

She glanced over at the shackles, resting in a haphazard pile on the table beside the bed, stared at them for a long moment.

She considered reaching for them just to see what he would do.

Then she considered putting them on.

And then, for some reason, she considered putting them on _him._

The image that rose up in her mind at that moment was so vivid and intense that the air evaporated from her lungs.

She saw him chained to the bed, completely naked, completely at her mercy. Saw his muscles ripple and tense as he struggled against his bonds. Saw her straddling his waist, trailing her fingertips over his skin, leaning down to trail kisses across his hard stomach. Heard him growling deep in his chest as she looked into those bright blue eyes and found them feverish, desperate, silently begging her to take what she wanted from him.

She sucked in a sharp breath, crashing back into the present to find the same bright blue eyes watching her expectantly.

When she spoke her words came out in a jumbled rush.

"Yeah-no-you're-right-it-isn't-I-mean-I-won't-I-me an-the-chains-would-be-a-bad-idea-because-is-it-ho t-in-here-or-what-i-mean-you-don't-have-to-eat-if- you-don't-want-to-sorry."

_Well done, darling,_ her brain said sweetly.

Jason's eyes crinkled. He lowered his head, placing one hand on his mask for a moment. Then he started shaking.

Ana watched, eyes wide, as Jason sat back on his heels and gave in to a fit of laughter. It wasn't loud; it was a deep, throaty chuckle.

And she felt every single sound as if it was a kiss on her skin, a brush of his fingertips down her spine. She relished it, memorized it. Swore at that moment that she would hear it again.

When he finally regained control, he leaned forward and started writing.

_I have a proposition for you, Ana._

Ana's heart tripped over itself. "You… you do?"

_I will eat when you tell me what you were thinking about just now._

Ana's mouth dropped open. "What… you… _no!_" she said frantically.

Jason's eyes crinkled in amusement and he shrugged.

_Then I guess I'll starve._

Ana's brain was stuttering, stalling, sending thoughts rapid-fire that were all jumbled together. She glanced around, searching for something to kick start her mind again. Her eyes found the notebook, latched on to it desperately. She thought through all of their previous conversations at lightning speed. Grasped on to an idea. Ran with it.

"If you starved to death, you'd be leaving me. Abandoning me." She lifted her gaze to his triumphantly. "You gave me your word you wouldn't do that."

Jason narrowed his eyes at her. He was quiet for a long moment, staring at her thoughtfully. Then he dropped his gaze and started writing.

_I need to check my traps and walk the perimeter of the lake one more time before the snow starts. Will you be alright by yourself for a few hours?_

Panic fluttered in her stomach. So he'd decided to punish her for outmaneuvering him by leaving?

She lifted her chin defiantly. "I think I can manage."

He huffed that short, silent laugh.

_I'll eat when I get back._

This mollified her somewhat. "Okay," she said with a short sigh.

She watched him stand, turn away and start towards one of the tunnels, and before she could think better of it, she called out to him.

"Be careful, Jason."

He paused, glanced back at her over his shoulder. He was too far away for her to read his eyes. But she saw surprise written in the lines of his shoulders and back.

Then he nodded, just once, and disappeared down the tunnel.

She waited until she heard the trapdoor that led out of the mine to slam back into place. Then she sighed, leaned her head back, and took several deep, calming breaths. That image of him naked, on her bed, completely at her mercy, had overwhelmed her. Intoxicated her.

The idea of describing it to him…

Her heart rate spiked. Would he laugh at her if she told him? Or would his eyes darken with desire, and his muscles tense as he fought to stay away from her? There was something that kept him from her, something within him that caused him to keep pushing her away. She didn't know what it was yet, but she had a few ideas.

And then there was the anxiety from watching him leave, watching him walk away. It was simmering just beneath the surface of her consciousness, but she grit her teeth against it, forcing her mind to find other things to concentrate on.

_He'll be back,_ she thought firmly. _He'll be back in just a few hours._

She got to her feet. She had to do something. She had to move. She refused to let the panic win again.

She limped carefully across the room, taking note of all the things she hadn't paid attention to before. He had several crates of canned food stored in a small recess near the workbench. Enough food to last for weeks, possibly months. Beside the stockpile sat several cardboard boxes filled with old scraps of metal and machinery parts.

She smiled to herself. If she didn't know him better, she would have thought that Jason was a hoarder. Almost everything he had in this cavern could be considered junk.

But she'd seen the bells on the ceiling, and the complex system of wires and pulleys that threaded across the wall and up, out of the mine. He'd made that by hand. Using scavenged parts and old, castoff tools.

He wasn't a hoarder. He was a freaking genius.

Smiling to herself, Ana limped over to the entrance to one of the corridors that branched off from the main room. This was the one Jason had said held water and kerosene. She bit her lip thoughtfully. He'd only been gone a few minutes when he'd walked down there to get supplies. It couldn't be too far.

She made her way slowly down the tunnel, sidestepping piles of more junk; electrical cords, broken lanterns, a pitchfork with a broken handle.

When she saw the first rat scurrying towards her, she froze, eyeing it warily. She wasn't afraid of rats; she'd lived in foster homes and orphanages her entire life. She was no stranger to rodents.

The rodent in question, however, was big and black and furry. It waddled across the tunnel, glanced up at her with sharp, beady eyes, and then continued past her without a second glance. Tentatively, she took a step forward, and the rat squeaked casually and moved out of her way.

_Tame. And fat. __Jason must be feeding them_.

Something about that made her heart constrict, and an unconscious smile curl her lips. The fact that he took care of the mine's other inhabitants, when no one else would have done so... it was just plain adorable.

She continued down the tunnel, and stopped when it finally opened up into a small cavern. The walls were chiseled smooth and reinforced with big wooden beams. And the entire room was filled with… _stuff_.

It was a survivalist's wet dream. Camping equipment, piles of firewood, a row of lanterns hanging from one wall, boxes of medical supplies, spare clothing, sleeping bags and blankets, several pallets of bottled water and five or six portable propane tanks.

He could live in this mine for years without going up to the surface.

How… Where had he gotten all of this?

_Think about it, Ana,_ her brain said quietly.

Right. Of course.

He'd murdered people and taken their supplies. She wondered suddenly if the sheets and covers on her bed had been taken from the camp of one of Jason's victims. Was she sleeping under a dead man's blanket? On a dead girl's pillow?

The thought made her shiver. She wanted to push the idea out of her mind, bury it beneath more pleasant thoughts, but she couldn't. That was simply not how her mind worked.

So she turned around and made her way back to the main room, sat down, and began the long, tense wait for Jason to return.


	18. Calm

**Holy crap, you guys are awesome. **

The. Burlesque. Mistress. 92 (sorry, it won't let me write your name without the extra spaces; stupid website), Tell me you're still you, TheMoops, m. Autumn, Akatinawa15, shadow1real, Strange Demise, xXxSaiyanPrincessxXx (some of your reviews literally made me laugh out loud), ArchAngelCayta, and the anonymous Guest, thank you all so much! I always have so much fun reading your reactions to the story.

I really hope you all enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**ANA**

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she awoke. She didn't remember falling asleep, so she had no way to estimate how long she'd been out. But the fire had died down to a weak red glow in the stove, and tendrils of cold air had begun to slide across her skin. She opened her eyes, blinking away the fog of sleep, to find Jason reclined on the ground beside her, leaning back against the table, eyes closed. He had removed his jacket and hung it on the chair by the stove; now he just wore an old white t-shirt that clung tightly to the muscles that corded his chest and arms.

Ana pushed herself up on one elbow, careful to be as quiet as possible. She felt a smile tugging her lips. She liked waking up near him. It made her feel… not quite so alone in the world.

But he couldn't possibly be comfortable like that. The ground had to be freezing, and he was propped up in a sitting position. His head was tilted back, exposing the bulky muscles around his neck.

Strange. He looked oddly fragile. Exposed.

Vulnerable.

Ana leaned closer, and for a few minutes, she just watched him. Watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the soft hissing sound of air flowing through his mask.

What was beneath that mask? She'd heard the story from the locals when she'd stopped at the diner in town to ask about renting a cabin. She'd heard the warnings, and the jokes. She'd heard about the mother who had killed the camp counselors. She'd heard about the deformed son.

But how, exactly, was he deformed? The rest of his body was perfect. Big, and muscular, and perfect. The only physical anomalies she could see were the bulky, asymmetrical muscles around his neck. And those didn't bother her at all.

As she watched him, and her curiosity continued to grow, she became aware of the warmth that was sliding through her body, and the way her palms itched to reach out and touch him. She wasn't stupid. She knew better than to try to take off that mask of his.

But she _did_ want to touch him.

Badly.

So she reached out, hesitated, and touched her fingertips to his shoulder.

His reaction was instant. Fast as lightning, he reached up and took hold of her arm, holding her in place. His eyes were sharp and wide, and a low warning growl rumbled in his chest.

"Relax," Ana said softly.

She didn't actually expect him to follow her command.

But he did. His grip on her wrist loosened, and his breathing calmed. His eyes searched her face, though what he was looking for, she did not know.

After a moment, he released her arm and stood. He grabbed a few logs from the aluminum pail at the foot of the bed and tossed them into the stove. Heat blazed from the grate as he stirred the banked embers; she could feel it on her face from several feet away. Then he turned and picked up the blanket at the foot of the bed and started to drape it over her.

"Wait," she said sharply, remembering the discovery she had made earlier. A shiver crawled over her skin. Jason stopped, looked up at her. And, as commanded, he waited.

Ana bit her lip. "Did you… I mean… is that…" she heaved a sigh and dragged a hand through her hair. "Did you kill someone for that blanket?" she asked, hating that her voice sounded so tremulous.

Jason stared at her for a long moment. Then, moving slowly, as if he was afraid he might startle her, he set the blanket back down on the foot of the bed. Just as slowly, he moved around the bed and sat down next to her, reaching for the notebook.

He thought for a moment, and then wrote quickly.

_Do you really think I would kill a man for his blanket?_ he asked, pinning her with curious blue eyes.

Ana frowned. Was that a trick question? There was no censure in his eyes, no hostility, just curiosity. And something else, something that made her heart constrict in her chest. Concern.

"Well… actually, no," she said thoughtfully. "You don't strike me as the type of person who would kill someone for their possessions."

The concern eased from his gaze. Ana cocked an eyebrow at him.

"But, then… how did you get it? And all that survival gear down that tunnel? Where did it come from?"

_A man I killed._ His eyes glinted with sly humor as he tilted the notebook for her to see.

Ana narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said you didn't kill him for his blanket."

_That is correct._

"Stop being so cryptic," she commanded. Her temper was beginning to fray. She just wanted a straight answer, but Jason was playing with her. And he was enjoying it, too. She could see it in his eyes.

But behind the humor, she sensed a somberness that made her heart flutter nervously in her chest.

She felt… almost like she was being put to the test. Like Jason was taking his measure of her, deciding something important about her.

A sudden, unnerving thought flitted to the surface of her mind.

Maybe…

Maybe this wasn't just about how she saw Jason…

Maybe this was also about how Jason saw _her_.

"What did you kill him for, then?" she asked quietly, meeting his eyes with unflinching determination.

Jason sighed.

_Does it matter, Ana? It still doesn't change the fact that I killed him._

Ana blinked down at the notebook in surprise. She hadn't expected him to come right out and say it.

But now that he had...

A sudden, ghostly weight seemed to lift from her shoulders.

The last of her sanity making its escape, no doubt.

"Yes," she said simply. "It matters to me."

Jason's gaze drilled into her, pinning her in place with their intensity. Surprise flickered there, in those pale blue eyes. And that surprise made Ana curious.

Had he expected condemnation? Disgust? Fear?

Surely not. She had always known what he was. Did he think she had deluded herself about him? That she had somehow managed to forget who he was? She hadn't forgotten, she knew perfectly well who he was and what he had done. She had simply been forced to come to terms with the fact that she was probably going insane. Because, despite this painful knowledge, she was still inexorably attracted to Jason Voorhees.

After a long moment, he started writing.

_I didn't kill him for his blanket. I killed him because he raped and murdered a young woman and tried to frame me for his crimes by dumping the victim's body in my mother's house and setting it on fire._

Ana's mouth dropped open. Shock spiraled through her. "He did… I don't… He what?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jason's eyes crinkled slightly.

_Your mastery of the English language is unmatched, Dasvidanya._

A surprised laugh escaped Ana, and she smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "Be nice, you," she muttered, biting her lip as she ran this new information through her head. "So you killed a murdering rapist and took his blanket?"

_Serial murdering rapist,_ Jason corrected. _He had a van full of camping supplies and survival gear. He intended to go into hiding after his last victim. The police were catching up to him. He was going to disappear._

"Like Eric Rudolph?"

Jason nodded.

"But you got to him first," she said.

Again, he nodded. Then his eyes frowned. _I am not making excuses, Ana. There are no excuses. I am a killer. _

Ana blinked down at the page, at the words written there in that neat, intelligent handwriting.

"I know," she said quietly. She was crazy. It was that simple. She'd actually, finally lost her mind. Lost touch with reality. Now she felt like one of those women who married convicted murderers on Death Row.

She did not see a killer when she looked at Jason.

She saw so much more.

Jason wasn't like the bastard he had killed, the serial rapist. Jason was not as bad, not as… as evil.

Christ, that made far more sense than it should. Were there really different levels of… of _evilness_ when it came to serial killers?

"You don't torture people," she said, staring down at her hands, biting her lip as she worked through the thoughts that were jumbled about in her head. "Right?"

Jason thought for a moment. _Not intentionally._

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ana demanded. She lifted her head and found him watching her with hesitant eyes.

_Do you really want to know?_

She opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again. Thought for a second. And then nodded.

Jason sighed. _I have bear traps set up throughout my property. Occasionally, people will get caught in one when I'm not around. They suffer. I do not mean for that to happen._

"What are the bear traps for?"

His eyes grinned at her again. _Ca__tching bears._

Ana narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to scold him, but he held up one hand to stall her words.

_Fresh meat is vital when the rest of your diet is composed of canned food. Besides, Grizzlies are a menace around here; they do more harm than good._

_"_But... you _eat_ bears?"

Jason nodded. _Occasionally. But over the years, they've wised up and learned to avoid my traps. Most of the time, I just hunt deer and rabbits.  
_

Ana nodded absently. She'd had venison on occasion; Max went deer hunting every August with a few of his old college buddies.

Irritably, she banished all thoughts of Max from her head. Max was not the problem. Max was not what she wanted to be thinking about.

She let her eyes drift back down to her lap, to where her hands rested, toying with a loose thread on her jeans. She tugged at the thread, frowning at it. Curled it around her finger to get a better grip on it. Tried to rip it out. It wouldn't budge.

Stupid thread.

Stupid world.

Nothing made sense anymore.

"Why do you kill people, Jason?" she asked, surprising them both with the question. The words had just… fallen out of her mouth. Without thought. Without hesitation. They were just suddenly… there.

Between them. Hanging in the air, echoing in the silence.

Jason was quiet for a long time. The whole room was quiet. The only sound came from the wood stove, where the fire hissed and crackled softly behind its iron grate.

Then he started writing. Ana expected him to write for a while, detailing an entire list of his reasons.

But he only wrote three words, and then set the notebook gently in her lap.

_Why don't you?_


End file.
